


Falling into you

by ioniclightning



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bondage, Daddy Issues, Dominance, Force-Feeding, Getting Together, Humiliation, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Alternating, Pining, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Self Care, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Maxwell (Don't Starve), Walter don't starve, Warly Don't starve, Wendy Don't Starve, Wickerbottom don't starve, Willow don't starve, Winona Don't Starve, Woodie don't starve, Wortox - Freeform, belt, breath play, wurt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 125,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioniclightning/pseuds/ioniclightning
Summary: Depicting a slow burn complicated relationship between young Wilson the scientist and older Maxwell, from Don't starve. It gets explicit and a little weird (chapter with the pigs I'm looking at you!) People die but not really because this story has video-game mechanics from the game Don't starve. You don't need to know the game, it's a kinky little story all on its own that features a nightmare world based on surviving hardship. There's plenty of hurt and plenty of comfort. Some mild gore and blood, use of a syringe.Sometimes self care is an older dominant stalker man with magical evil powers and a soft spot for sexy stupid people.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 107





	1. Science and a stranger

Wilson shifted the paper bag in his arms to get the key, the December weather made his hands shake as they fumbled to open the door. The freezing fog had soaked right through his clothes and in a hurry to get everything done as quickly as possible, he hadn't bothered with a jacket. Getting groceries? It was just valuable time being squandered! Wilson resented the human body its need to feed, that its fingers became numb and clumsy in the cold. He was on the verge of a breakthrough, he knew it, if only he could devote all his time without such distractions!

A letter had awaited him at the post office: the allowance from his parents, and their judging words no doubt. Finally, those chilly hands had managed to get him inside. He dropped the bag at the door, kicking it shut and walking into the entrance hall, past empty coat hangers and a dark-carpeted staircase, to the living room. It was a fancy old house; with a downstairs kitchen he didn't use and indoor plumbing for a small upstairs bathroom.

He'd set up a bed in front of the living-room's fireplace, along with a portable kitchen set below the large lawn-facing windows. His science station took up the best place in the house; the reading nook on a small podium, overlooking where he sometimes slept and ate. The reading nook was where he lived. It had a strange little stage, a podium surrounded by the large windows on one side, and rows of bookshelves behind it. It might have been used to entertain guests at some point. The three worktables he’d set up there were covered with vials and beakers, papers strewn everywhere with various scribbles and drawn out formulas. Wilson smiled at his work, his reason for living. Better read the letter before he could get lost in his research, get the money.

He examined the envelope, looking inside the neatly folded letter, he tipped the envelope over his waiting hand. There was no money.

His mouth felt dry as he walked up to the windows to read. His eyes searched the sentences for an explanation and they expanded in shock when he found it. Wilson dropped the letter, pacing the room up and down. He took a sharp breath, reading the short message over again. He crumpled it up and set it on fire in the hearth. He didn't bother to make a proper fire, the angry blush on his cheeks was all the heat he needed, besides, he had light from the windows for now.

Standing there in his damp clothes, he looked at that blackboard in the middle of the room. The formula's he'd written looked promising and inviting. Wilson walked up to them, a piece of chalk ready in his hand, adding to the ideas that would change the world. His parents would soon understand! He ate little and could spare even more on the heat if he stuck to candles at night. He'd get another month or three out of his savings. I almost have something! Scribbling furiously, Wilson expanded his theory, his mouth a thin line of determination. 'I'll show them what I am capable of,' he muttered, 'People will remember me long after you are dead, mother and father. Long after I am gone our name shall live on! I'll be the greatest scientist of a generation, of generations to come. I'll do you proud.'

Forgotten on a side-table by the cold hearth, the radio turned on and hissed static to itself.

Wilson looked at his pocket watch, it blurred in and out of focus in the candlelight. Three o'clock in the morning. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, making white stars of pain explode across his vision. It only seemed a minute ago when he'd prepared a hasty meal and wolfed it down, more time squandered! His shoulders ached and there was a painful rainbow edge to everything when he turned his head.

What was that sound? He stumbled more than walked to the little side-table, a weird little tune played on the old radio that had come with the house. He turned the dial to off and was punished by a cold jab of electricity straight up to his elbow. Wilson sucked his fingers, glaring at the old thing. 'I'm going to dismantle you,' he vowed, 'as soon as my schedule allows for it.'

He tried to pour some yellow liquid into a beaker, but he kept seeing three of them.

'Just a wink,' he told himself, walking to his bed. Getting out of his clothes was too difficult, they'd dried around his body weird and the buttons felt too tiny to get to terms with. He collapsed onto the covers. Just as he’d settled in the radio turned itself back on with a smug click. Wilson groaned. He didn't have the strength to get up. Half an hour is all I need, a wink.

The wink turned into a nightmare; a sharp hiss from the radio filled the room with a strange flickering light. Wilson looked up at a dark silhouette standing over him, unnervingly tall. The glow of a cigar burned in the dark, but it did not light the face staring down at him.

A bead of sweat slid down Wilson's temple. A burglar?

'What do you want?' His voice sounded weak, he tried to stay calm and lay still, feeling very small.

The figure blew smoke into his face. Wilson coughed, he tensed to flee but an oily darkness sprang to life around him. Out of his bed tendrils of thick shadow burst out of the mattress like sentient ink. The shadows morphing into long dark claws; coiling around his legs, his arms and neck, gripping him tight and holding him in place. Wilson struggled, his heartbeat in his throat, he couldn’t bring himself to make a sound.

The figure watched him silently, cigar in hand. Wilson squirmed, but it was like fighting coiled steel. Then the figure leaned in, bringing the cigar close to his cheekbone. Wilson strained his head away to one side, his breathing very fast. He took a breath to scream, but a shadowy claw clamped his mouth shut. The orange dot of the cigar came even closer, Wilson could feel the heat on the side of his face and he flinched.

'Say, pal,' the stranger said with a low, smoke-laced voice, 'you don't look so good...' Then he straightened back up with a chuckle. Suddenly Wilson was let go.

He sat up in bed, steadying himself against the dizziness. The intruder was nowhere to be seen. To his surprise the hearth had been lit, the warm glow of the fire playing tricks on the shadows on the walls, making it look like silhouettes of several men were perched on the wallpaper. He rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again they were still there.

Such dreams! He held his hot face in his hands, his fingers coming away glistening with sweat. Oh great, his body had gotten itself sick. Well, it better get up in the morning to do science or they were going to have a disagreement...

A gloved hand touched the side of his face from behind, making him flinch, another rested on his shoulder. They kept him from turning around. Why did he have to place his bed in the middle of the room so anything could sneak up?

He found some courage to speak, still sounding faint: 'Are you the Devil?'

The figure standing behind him was silent for a moment, then they laughed, a not unpleasant sound, Wilson thought.

'Nothing of the sort,' the visitor said, 'at least I hope not. Did I frighten you that much?.'

Wilson made a non-committal sound, then looked down at his hands lying in his lap. 'Too bad.'

The visitor blew smoke past him into the room. 'So desperate to strike a deal?'

'If I could I would,' Wilson said, 'all I need is more time.'

The figure held him down a moment longer, then let go. 'You've certainly got the ambition.'

Wilson nodded, his head spun as he tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't support him. He ended up kneeling on the floor with his arms grasping the bed. 'Something's wrong,' he groaned.

The figure loomed over him, a smirk visible in the glow. How were they still a silhouette in the bright room? Wilson grabbed at him, catching nothing, letting his arms fall back down.

The visitor shook his head, it was definitely a man, staring him down. 'Maybe it was that “meal” you ate,' the man said.

Wilson looked up at him, his eyes shiny. 'What?'

'You made porridge, I think it was supposed to be porridge, how was the taste?'

'Taste?'

'The milk, curdled as it was, you didn't notice?'

Wilson groaned. 'I don't care, it's nothing but fuel.' He tried to get up again but didn't have the strength.

The man turned away, muttering to himself. Wilson thought he heard him say; “How can anyone live like this?” A blush crept up his face and he felt the need to defend himself. 'I don't have time for anything else!’ he yelled. He bunched his fists into the bed-sheet. 'I want everyone to remember my name forever. I want to change the world with my brilliance! Who cares about porridge, or spoiled milk or anything else!'

From every wall the shadow men detached themselves and came for him. Wilson's eyes grew big with terror as the night itself seemed to engulf him. In the darkness, the visitor leaned in close, his cigar the only light. 'So you want to be exceptional?'

Wilson nodded, voice shaking. 'There is nothing else I want more.'

The shadows lessened in number, until only one of them was holding him up by the arm. The man flicked a speck of dust from Wilson's shoulder, 'Then you're going to have to survive the night, pal. You're burning up.'

Wilson deflated, but the shadow would not let him fall. 'You can help me?' he asked.

The man laughed. 'I know everything about the exceptional, I am quite exceptional myself. Magnificent, you might say.'

Wilson swooned, grabbing his stomach as a sudden sharp pain struck him there. He landed on his knees. 'It hurts.'

'That's no good,' the figure said, turning the cigar in his mouth, 'we need you in a better state of mind, fresh and looking... somewhat dapper, for your big discovery tomorrow. '

Wilson looked up flustered at the idea. 'Tomorrow?'

'Why wait? If you're exceptional you can do the exceptional, time should not be an issue, don't you think so?'

'I'm exceptional?' Wilson grabbed his face, squishing his glowing cheeks.

The figure nodded kindly. 'Now get up pal, it's bath-time.'

Wilson frowned. 'I don't want a bath.'

'You don't have much of a say in the matter, certain needs must be met before we can proceed.'

The shadow lifted Wilson, schlepping him into an involuntary march following the man out of the room and up the stairs. Halfway up, there was a pause while the man traced a hand across the banister, looking at the faded wallpaper around them, squares were standing out on the grim pattern, hinting at paintings and pictures that had been taken down. Wilson was about to ask something when the man snapped his fingers and a light appeared above his hand, a dancing orb like a firefly -but strangely large. Wilson stared at it trance-fixed. 'How.' But the man just grinned and walked up.

They went into the bathroom, it was a decent sized room in white, pink and cream, a great bathtub poised underneath the pipes that led into a cistern, there was also an indoor toilet. The man let water into the tub and went to lean against the sink. Wilson stared at the scene, it could not really be time for a bath, could it?

The visitor, still a dark shape with a cigar, clapped his hands together. 'Time to rethink some of our recent culinary decisions.'

Wilson frowned while he tried to decipher the sentence, then the shadow claw on his arm started pushing him towards the toilet. 'Wait, -wait!' Wilson dug his heels into the faded pink carpet but nothing could stop the shadow from making him kneel in front of the porcelain bowl. 'I don't even feel sick! I really just-' His words were cut off by the shadow hand reaching into his mouth and sliding down into his throat.

The man looked on while Wilson's stomach was forced clear of its troubling content. The sound of hot water filling the tub mingled with the sounds of upset, and the room filled up with steam.

Weak, trembling Wilson lay on the carpet, arms and legs lying uselessly at his sides. He couldn't move, let alone stop the shadow claws coming for him, the man remained a bystander leaning on the sink. Wilson froze while the claws went about undoing his shirt, one button at a time. Wilson looked away, he pulled his knees together, arms at his sides, but his clothes were taken away and into the bathtub, he went, and there in the warmth, he let out an involuntary sigh. The only light was that of the figure's glowing cigar and the ghost-light above his shoulder. The man straightened up. 'That's not so bad, is it?'

Wilson just looked at him, trying to be menacing but not managing to form a scowl.

The man showed Wilson his empty, gloved hand. Wilson watched through heavy-lidded eyes, then a stone appeared into the hand, a rounded, bright yellow stone. The man tossed it into the tub with him, where it bubbled violently.

Wilson wrinkled his nose. Sulfur? He sat in the bubbling tub, dazed as an unfamiliar feeling washing over him. He was vaguely aware of the man coming closer and rolling up his sleeves, definitely not just a silhouette, he could distinguish a kind of fancy suit, the white gloves coming off. Wilson tried to get out of the bathtub, but the man just pushed him back down with his hands on his shoulders.

Wilson covered his face. This isn't really happening!

The shadow men gathered at the tub, then dipped in, blackening the water around him. Wilson sat there in the hot water, his head cast downward, as they started to touch him, washing his skin, gliding across his legs, up to his back. Tightness gripped his chest and he fiercely wondered what anyone else in this situation would be doing. His body grew heavy and a rush of light-headedness made him slink down into the warmth. The visitor put something into his hair, massaging a cold liquid into it that smelled good, it all slunk to the background. How long had it been since he'd last taken a break? The visitor talked, his voice soothing in the dim-lit room. A feeling of weightlessness came over Wilson, accompanied by a faint smile. He fought it

Taking a break from my work? Not possible! He struggled to sit up. 'Tomorrow? Really?'

The figure paused. 'If you're up for it.'

Wilson nodded, his muscles tensed up again at the thought of failure. Tears sprang into his eyes and he tried to steady his voice. 'I need to discover something extraordinary, something exceptional, something that the world will remember me for.' His mouth was dry while he spoke. 'I don't care about myself. I don't matter. Not until I find what I'm meant to discover.'

'Then let's get to work,’ the man said,' then pushed him underwater but before Wilson had time to gasp for air, the shadows lifted him out of the tub and into a multitude of towels. Wilson got disorientated for a while, but he found himself in a dressing-robe and sitting next to a single candle. The robe was unfamiliar to him, made of thick, smooth fabric. He took the candle and followed the only sound in his house; a strange, slightly distorted music coming from downstairs.

The radio was back on, playing along with the flames in the hearth. Wilson thought of turning it off but remembered the jab it had given him. He glowered at it, I'll get you later.

The man sat in the comfortable chair in front of the hearth, he had quite made himself at home it seemed. He looks so real, Wilson thought again, an older man, sitting in the dark even in a brightly lit room. The man gestured at the chair standing next to him.

Wilson didn't know what else to do so he sat down. After a while, he cleared his throat. 'So... if you're not “the Devil.” Who are you?'

'I am a man, just like you.'

Wilson made a sound, moving his arms to point out everything about the figure.

The man stared into the flames. 'It's just that I know things, I have possession of forbidden knowledge and this allows me to bend nature to my will.'

Wilson's jaw dropped. The man stood, extending his hand. 'Would you like to share in this knowledge? I can promise you it shall inspire your work, elevate it to new and unseen heights.'

Wilson swallowed, unsure of himself and the offer. But did he have any other choice? He stood and, after the slightest pause, accepted the handshake. The figure grinned down at him, seemingly growing taller. 'Here.'

Wilson staggered as a surge of pain shot into him, from all over the room the shadows danced in the suddenly bright flames of the fire, a gust of wind whirled around them. The figure held onto his hand, looking down at him as Wilson sank to his knees.

Wilson couldn't breathe, in his mind, something snapped- breaking a barrier he never knew was there. Words, ideas, visions- they cut through him with their sudden clarity it was so painfully obvious! He mumbled to himself, his shoulders curling inwards. 'Of course- Of course! How could I not have seen!’ '

The figure released him and Wilson got to his feet immediately. He ran to his science station, it too looked transformed to him. 'I need to build- I need to create!' He extended his hands, looking at them. 'With these hands, I shall craft a thing the world has never seen!'

The visitor grinned to himself, sitting back down in the chair to watch Wilson at work on the podium. Wilson flew about setting things up, adding liquids to beakers, and setting the beakers over flickering flames. He kept mumbling and talking to himself. Above him on the ceiling, the shadows slid about.

After this burst of activity Wilson's breathing became labored, a beaker slipped from his fingers shattering on the floorboards. He watched the liquid eat its way through the wood within seconds. Then he collapsed, breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead and his arms shaking from the effort of keeping him up. 'I can't quit now!' His body had once again let him down.

The man looked up from a book he'd been reading, he nodded and his shadow army lifted Wilson to his bed.

Wilson shook his head as soon as it hit the pillow, shaking. 'I think the fever came back, how could it!' He slapped his forehead.

The man snapped the book shut and walked up to him. 'You poor thing,' he said. He showed him his empty hand again, then made a fist and when he opened it up something was lying in it. Wilson frowned at it, another magic trick? The thing was filled with something bright red. A hot panic flushed over him as he recognized it was a syringe. 'I'm fine, I need to wash my beakers, let me-' The shadows kept him from escaping the bed.

'Don’t bother yourself with that,' the man spoke over him, a smile in his voice. He leaned in, taking Wilson's arm from the shadows that held him down, neatly rolling up the bath gown’s sleeve and angling the wrist upwards.

Wilson tried to squirm away, 'Just let me clean up. I still have so much to do. Can't keep my lab looking the way it does!'

The man squeezed some liquid from the syringe, then stuck the needle inside the bend of Wilson's elbow. Wilson froze, a gasp in his throat, then the liquid from the needle seeped into his limbs and mind and he fell back feeling fuzzy. His eyes glazed over and he lay there like a puddle.

The man patted the side of his face. 'That's better, isn't it?'

Wilson couldn't speak, his eyelids fell shut and he lost consciousness.

The shadow man stood tall, making the empty syringe disappear with a flourish. He slicked back his hair and grinned down at the young man on the bed. 'Sorry pal, you looked like you needed a rest.'

Wilson breathed steadily, in a deep, peaceful sleep. The man grabbed him, half-lifting him off the mattress. 'You little fool.' He tightened his grip around Wilson's throat, ‘you’re such a weak little cry-baby, It takes everything I have to keep myself from slapping some sense into you.’

He tightened his grip until the body started to choke, then he dropped him without looking back, leaving white fingerprints on the bare neck. 'We're going to have some fun tomorrow,' he said, 'too bad for you you're really not all that clever.'

He stepped back into the shadows and faded away, but not before snapping his fingers. On a shelf over the science station a book appeared; a thick volume that fell forward and landed with a thud and a crash: waiting.

Harsh, morning light found Wilson bolt upright in his bed. Outside, crows cawed at each other in a grey mist that clung to the window. Wilson pressed his hands to his eyes. What a dream. He remembered the figure standing over him- the voice, the persistent shadows. A deep blush crept up his cheeks, making him dizzy. He let out a long breath, trying to steady himself but it only made him cough. Did he sleep with the window open again? His throat was killing him. Then he noticed the strange fancy robe he had on and sat very still, he rolled up the sleeve and saw the mark a needle had left on his arm. Someone had put a band-aid over it.

A shudder ran up his spine that became a fine tremor of fear. It can't be real.

He got out of bed and out of habit started to pace, but he had to sit down on his bed to catch his breath. 'No, it can't be real.' His hand traced the fabric of the robe, soft, luxurious. He must have put it on himself, dazed by the fever- hurt his arm somehow. There were lots of unopened boxes in the rooms upstairs, left there by the previous owners, it must've come from there. He got into fresh clothes and hung the robe on a chair. Passing the ice-box, his stomach growled and he placed a hand on it. What to have for breakfast? Certainly not porridge.

He thought about skipping the meal, but a vague memory of the upstairs bathroom made him at least give it a try.

'I broke the fever,' he told himself, 'might as well get my strength back.' Sadly, breakfast was not the best. Maybe he should have put the groceries away instead of leaving them on the floor by the door. He munched some dry bread and drank water. That would have to do, he didn't have the appetite for anything elaborate anyway. He rubbed his neck again, wondering at the weird memories. When he traced his hands through his hair they smelled of flowers. It didn’t matter. Science was the only thing that mattered. '

But science was not a friend to him on this day. Wilson stared at his formulas, erasing and correcting them, then erasing and correcting them again.

'What am I even trying to do? Is it science or just childish curiosity?'

Chalk in hand he approached the problems again, but the numbers and figures wouldn't make any sense. He jabbed them with his finger, trying to pin them down. 'Stop dancing! Be still, damn you!' He went to his science station, maybe practice proved more reliable than theory today.

Wilson groaned. A book had fallen onto his beakers, shattering them. 'Those are expensive!' He went to fling the book away but the markings written on its pages caught his eye. 'What on earth...'

Wilson thumbed through the pages, not heeding the glass. They were like formulas, but insane ones. Somehow they made sense ...but did they really? They hinted at meanings incredible, then seemed to defy all meaning altogether. He couldn't find his chalk, so used a piece of charcoal on paper. When he ran out of paper, he used his old notes instead, scribbling over them boldly. 'Interesting,' he muttered, 'intriguing, just plain weird.'

Morning came and went and Wilson ran out of the house to get more supplies, the book demanded them! He was onto something now -for real. While he was gone, shadow hands went over his work- rearranging things, making changes to metallic parts, adding some ingredients to bubbling beakers, and they chalked a formula that looked more like a spell onto the blackboard.

The door flew open and Wilson returned. He dropped a heavy box of tools by the science station and went back to work!

A jab of static from the radio made Wilson snap out of it. He could barely see in the blue fading light from outside, the afternoon was long gone, how long had he been working? He gradually became aware he was holding something in a tight grip and it hurt, when he managed to uncurl his fist, his hand was covered in blood, dark and shiny in the gloom. He wiped it on his trousers, standing up as if coming out of a trance.

Wilson held his hand to his chest and felt a twinge of fear in his stomach. 'Maybe this is good,' he told himself, 'the best ideas, the most brilliant ones, often come to the mind when it is distracted. And I am certainly distracted.'

He lit some candles and went back to work. There were still lots of mechanical parts to the equation, but things were coming together, It looked like some kind of machine. Wilson couldn't tear his eyes away from the blueprints he'd found in the book, what did it all do? It used simple parts any household occupied by a scientist might have -plus some extra bits- some chemicals, and it all promised to work in ingenious ways. Wilson bit his lower lip. He'd spent the rest of his savings today and the rent was due at the end of the month.

He looked at the marking in the book and also on various bits of paper and at the symbols on the floor, strange symbols that made him feel somewhat ill-at-ease.

But did not even the basic symbols of alchemy have something... archaic about them? He wrapped his hand in strips of fabric made from an old shirt and got back to work. It was almost ready, he just knew. Wilson worked manically, unaware of anything else. The machine did come together almost by itself in the hours that followed.

A bell chimed on the radio, Wilson had gotten used to the constant static but this made him jump. 'Almost three-o'clock,' a familiar voice said in a sing-song way. Wilson blinked, straightening himself up from his kneeling position, chalk in hand. The markings on the floor were numerous now, connected by line at straight angles, all of them leading to the machine. And the Machine, oh what had he created? It had a faint glow to it now, it looked like something that shouldn't exist, the way that parts of it moved in the candlelight. He bent the fingers of his bandaged hand, touched his face; 'I can't feel anything.'

The machine... did it...grin at him? It towered though it didn't even reach the ceiling. Did he really build it, he couldn't remember all of it clearly. Building one part had led into another, and another, and now here it stood. He backed away from it and glanced at the hallway. Why do I feel the urge to run?

'Take a bow, pal,' said the radio, 'you made it.' A jaunty kind of tune began to play, Wilson wasn't sure if he liked it. It sounded a little tinny, somewhat creepy.

Two gloved hands landed heavily on his shoulders. Wilson let out a yelp, but the man now standing behind him kept him in place. 'Would you look at it,' the man said, 'now that is something exceptional. You worked so hard. You did a good job, Wilson.'

Wilson's eyebrows shot up and he couldn't suppress a smile. 'I did?' The smile faded quickly, was the figure mocking him? He tried to turn around but the man wouldn't let him. 'Look at it,' the man said.

Wilson did. The grin on the machine became more real to him the longer he looked. The man began to steer him back towards it. 'Let's turn it on, shall we?'

Wilson managed to stop just in front of the markings on the ground. 'Now?'

the voice chuckled. 'Isn't that what you wanted? Yesterday you said you wanted it done tomorrow. Here is a secret I'll tell you,' the figure leaned in close to his ear, 'tomorrow is today.’

Wilson looked at one of the levers sticking out of the machine, that's the ON switch, he knew, but he glanced back at the hallway, his heart beating fast.

A fire sprang to life on the logs in the hearth, so wasteful, he couldn't afford anymore. The warmth made Wilson realize how cold his limbs were, how his back and hands were hurting him from injury and cramping up. How his stomach ached for food. He felt sad and didn’t know why. The machine was right there. He’d made it.

Suddenly the man let him go and walked back to the fire, lighting a cigar. Wilson felt very silly. Am I really afraid of my own creation? I built it, after all. If only it didn't grin like that.

'By the way,' the man said, 'why is nobody here?'

Wilson frowned. 'Sh...should there be?'

The figure turned to look at him, his face still in shadows. 'I thought you would have at least written to fetch the press. You doubted you could do it?'

Wilson heard mockery in the voice and he folded his arms. 'I was kind of busy. When should I have-'

'You think it won't work?' The man interrupted him. 'Do you think that you're that incapable? You shouldn't doubt yourself, Wilson, you are very capable.'

'I know I am.' Wilson knew that he was pouting, he wiped his hand across his face and looked down at the floor. Was that true? Did he believe in himself? When he went out to get supplies, maybe he could have-

'No,' the man said kindly, 'you were right. Better test it first, then call everybody to see what this machine can do. Wilson the incredible! They will see, they will all see. Just give it time, maybe next month?'

Wilson felt very cold, he wouldn't be here next month. Did this happen to the previous owner, did they run out of time and get evicted. Would his stuff end up in boxes up in the attic along with the other boxes? He turned to face his creation, he'd invested everything he had left in it. If it didn't work... he couldn't finish the thought. Walking up to it really showed him how big it was, the machine was unlike anything he'd ever known. Something to worship almost.

He reached for the lever, but something made him pause. Fear, deep in his gut. This close to the thing, the hairs on at the back of his neck stood on end. It doesn't feel right.

Wilson stood there, taking a long slow breath, hand poised to pull the lever.

He closed his eyes. There is no other way. I know this time my creation will work. I am exceptional.

The man smirked at him from across the room. 'What are you afraid of, pal? Succeeding for once in your life?'

Wilson gritted his teeth and pulled the lever. The machine sprang to life, erupting into a hum of energy that sounded like a bright and evil laugh, full of glee and power, it filled the room with static.

Wilson stepped back, but two giant claws leaped from the floorboard and grabbed him, squeezing the air from his lungs on impact. I made a terrible mistake! A blinding light opened up around him, Wilson fought against the trap, then the light-filled his vision and his mind, drowning out everything else.


	2. Shadows and hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where things get a little gorey, but there is also berrie picking, stalking, and dying. No worries. It's still not the chapter with the pigs

“Hey pal, you don't look so good. Better find a light before it gets dark.” Wilson groaned, lifting himself onto his elbows. Did someone just say something? There was the sound of the wind moving through the pine-trees bringing fresh air to his lungs. He frowned at this, I'm outside? Did something explode again? He examined himself, nothing broken as far as he could judge. Did he always look this… clean? A gentleman scientist, dressed to impress. His clothes looked new, the black of his pants and fingerless gloves without chemical stains or burn marks. His fingertips traced over the intricate pattern on the red waistcoat he had on. But It felt like he was supposed to look like this, maybe the fumes had gotten to him again. It had happened before, wandering off to clear his mind from a particularly fumey experiment and then forgetting his way. The question was, where had he wandered off to?  
The sky was grey but different from the December weather he knew. He couldn't explain the difference more than a feeling, it felt somehow like it was watching him. He got up slowly, red flowers poked through the sullen grass around him. They looked strange, with black, wavy designs on their twisted petals. Wilson squatted down to see better: a wave of nausea washed over him, making him step back.  
'They're evil!?,' he said, with equal amounts of conviction and surprise.  
Wilson allowed himself a sensible chuckle. 'Evil is not a scientific term.' Going in for a second look, the same reaction seized him; ‘EVIL!’ Wilson gasped, stepping back further this time. 'So evil!' He doubled his resolve to investigate this reaction, planting his feet firmly onto the grass, staring the flowers down. The nausea gripped his stomach tighter and something very-not-good was happening to his head. But he was holding his own and winning ground. 'I shall pick one,' he pointed a finger at the sky for, 'for science!'

In a dark room, in front of a screen that hung in the air, sat the figure of a tall man in a big chair. The man watched Wilson on that screen and he slapped his own forehead in despair. He gritted his teeth, stretching his arms as far as the shadows that shackled him to the chair would let him. 'Are you seeing this?' Around him, unseen things tittered in the darkness. On the screen, Wilson picked a flower, immediately dropping to his knees and holding his head. “Evil!” it read at the bottom of the screen. “So evil!”  
'Oh come on!,' the man yelled at the tiny scientist. The voices laughed and jeered in a language of their own.  
The man ignored them, even though he could understand them. It was best to ignore them as a rule. 'You'll see,' he said more to himself than to them, 'he's quite capable. I would not have selected him otherwise.' On the screen, Wilson patted his pockets, seemingly searching for the flower he'd just picked.  
'Good luck finding it buddy,' the man said. 'That will take some getting used to.'  
To his amazement Wilson looked at the petals now in his hand and put them in his mouth.  
The man almost managed to throw himself out of the chair, but of course it would not let him. 'WHAT!'  
After the shadows had quieted down, the man sighed. 'Compared to me, Maxwell, everyone is a fool, but not quite like ...that.' Next to him a radio played, for the moment unheard because of the distraction the screen offered. In fact, the shadows seemed entertained as well, their wild shapes twisting with delight. Maxwell could feel their attention not on him, but on Wilson. They didn't need a screen to see Wilson, the idiot was getting clearer to them as he became more... unhinged. Don't eat the evil flowers. Did he really have to put up a sign for that? Perhaps this was going to be more difficult than he’d reckoned with.

Back on the field, Wilson held his head and groaned. He hesitated, looking at the flowers was like staring down a nest of angry vipers... that looked like flowers staring back at him with no eyes. Was that a normal thought just now? He picked another one. An uncontrollable whimper left him and he wiped his hands on his shirt. 'Not good. But where did it go? I can't pick the flower, I just get petals. I- I should write that down. A scientist out in the field carries a notebook ' He patted his empty pockets, sweat beading on his forehead. 'No notebook. That's bad.'  
He tried again but only got a bunch of petals. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. 'Does it happen every time I pick one?' He made himself pick another one. This time it sent him pulling at his own hair, clutching at his new clothes. He swallowed with difficulty. 'Yes. Actually, you know, Evil describes them quite well really.'  
The powerful urge to eat the petals crept up in his mind. 'Well...what do they taste like? It's hard to capture it with how they make you feel, you know.'  
Lightning struck the ground beside him and rain erupted from the darkened sky. Wilson held his hands over his head and ran. 'I hate the outside!'  
He took shelter under the nearest tree, a tall pointy one that looked like a pine-tree from a distance but not from close by. 'Piney enough, just not all the way there.' And why was he saying everything out loud, was that his usual habit?  
Wilson leaned back against the tree trunk, the rain slightly muffled by the branches, the air piney and cold. 'Did something happen to me?' He knuckled his forehead, there were memories in there he couldn't reach, like they were wrapped up in cotton, all fuzzy and nothing but contours.  
His stomach made a tiny rumbling noise, he ate the evil flower petals out of a reflex he didn't know he had. The feeling he experienced when the flower dissolved in his mouth made him writhe. For a moment the world warped out of shape in front of his eyes; shadows stood out to him behind a blood-red void, grotesque forms that lurked around him- looking up as if they could see him without needing eyes. Then it all warped back to normal again.  
Wilson let out a scream through clamped teeth and ran off. The sense that the shadows were right behind him drove him on and on, he ran until his lungs hurt, until the rain stopped, then he collapsed against a big boulder at the edge of a field. After he caught his breath he looked around. Here the yellow grass stretched out towards a distant treeline, each blade glistening with raindrops. A creature surprised him with its scream. But it was frightened of him, running away to its burrow. It resembled a rabbit, but with bright glowing eyes. Not quite right, this place is something strange. Wilson sat down against the boulder. 'Or maybe I am the loopy one? I am a scientist, that I do know.' Why can't I remember anything else?  
He looked up at the moody sky and felt sorry for himself.

In his chair, Maxwell laughed at the tiny figure unknowingly staring up at him. 'Feeling sorry for ourselves so soon? You've still got a long way to go my friend, save some for later. Better hurry up, it's getting dark.' He watched Wilson gather some twigs and stones, looking at them as they appeared and then vanished from his hands, one thing after the other. The place was already claiming him, making him interact with it as if he was a character on a stage; Wilson The Scientist, nothing more. Maxwell chuckled and lit a fresh cigar, watching the little puppet do its chores.

Wilson stared at the thing he had created. Just with some flint and sticks he had made an axe, and when he did not hold it in his hand it went... somewhere. Just before the light left the world he made a torch. His stomach growled and a weakness moved through him. 'I need something to eat, more than I ever needed anything to eat before.' Is that normal? Maybe he should stop asking that. Walking through the dark, his light reflected on a berry bush. The berries looked good to eat. He picked them all and ate them, but still felt hungry.  
Something moved through the night around him. Wilson held out his torch and kept moving. 'It's the light that keeps me safe.' He knew that. Maybe he lived here all along?  
The daylight came back. As soon as morning dawned Wilson dropped the torch, he could only carry so much and there was so much to explore. Still, nothing seemed entirely friendly, neutral at best. 'I need to do science, I am a scientist.' It buzzed at the back of his skull. I am a scientist. Wilson the Scientist. So Wilson the scientist made a science machine. Looking at it made him feel uneasy, as if he'd done it before... but different, and it had been a bad machine.  
No, this machine was good, it looked like a friendly square rock, standing on little peg legs and tied together with a rope. It was useful. It let him think of a trap, and he placed it where the creature with the glowing eyes lived in its burrow. He stood there watching the burrow and the trap, the eyes in the darkness glowed back at him warily.  
There is a whole world down there, Wilson heard himself think. His stomach growled at him, sending pain through his body, making him short of breath, he went back to searching for food.  
Wilson found more berries and stuffed them into his mouth, munching them violently. 'Maybe I should cook these.' He made a new torch, but the fire wouldn't cook them. 'A torch is made for lighting not for cooking.'  
Tools. The word seems simple, shining true in his mind like a sun made of reason. 'I need an axe to chop wood, I need a pot to cook food.' He stepped closer to his science machine and the idea's poured into his mind more readily. It felt good. He found some more sharp rocks and made a pickaxe. It was all so easy! All he had to do was find the materials and they would come together into his hands. He'd already made a little camp by the boulder, it was a good boulder, with the science machine standing beside it, it needed a word to describe it. Wilson smiled at the scene and called it his base. A home it was not, it was way too useful for that.  
'I need more boulders to get rocks,' he didn't want to smash the one in his base, that would be a betrayal. Wilson grabbed his face, feeling dizzy. I don’t feel like myself. What is happening to me? But a growl from his stomach drove him back into walking.  
The grassland ended into more forest and behind the trees lay an open plane made of smooth stone, filled with boulders. Wilson picked up his newly made pickaxe and slammed it into the first boulder he saw. He stuffed his pockets(?) with all the new materials. Science wins! Now he had the urge to get more wood.  
No trees on the stone plane. He was just about to turn back when he heard a sound. A sound like gnawing, coming from just behind one of the unbroken boulders. Wilson gripped his axe and approached. Was there someone else here? Did they have food?  
He crept even closer, feeling his heartbeat speed up his throat with every step. He saw bones, sun-bleached skeletons and strange skulls all stacked up on a large heap. The gnawing stopped and something rose up from behind that grim pile of remains. Sharp teeth dripped saliva down into thick matted fur, Wilson looked up at two glowing eyes that looked down at him. He dropped the axe as his face went white. A second creature rose up, then a third. 'It's a pack,' he whispered, 'a vicious pack of HOUNDS!' They leaped at him.  
Wilson bolted, running fast but at the same time it felt like running in a nightmare, agonizingly slow with no end in sight. The trees kept zipping away in front of him and he could feel the pack getting closer behind him. Finally, he reached the forest, dodging behind trees and zigzagging to lose the hungry creatures. Those things, they sounded like they wanted to rip him to pieces, add him to their pile. Wilson kept running but they kept up just as readily, breaking through the underbrush and howling for him to trip. He gasped at the realization; they won’t stop until they get me. Wilson clenched his fists, a look of disdain on his face. They would not get him, he’d just run further. Eaten by a pack of dogs? There was just no way that was going to happen to a scientist. Blown up maybe, or accidental poisoning, that was fine, that was acceptable.  
After a while the howling stopped and the word became very quiet.  
Wilson walked on, feeling triumphant. The feeling didn’t last very long. He clenched his stomach. 'I'm so hungry,' he seemed to say that all by himself. The sight of an unpicked berry bush made him drool. He jumped on it, picking them like a maniac.  
But he didn't eat them, Wilson pressed his fist into his stomach. 'Don't be so dramatic, I want to cook them first and see if that improves their nutritional value.’ He picked up some sticks for a campfire, even though with every new stick gathered it felt like a harder thing to do. ‘I could really do with a bite to eat,’ he said that again without permission and it annoyed him. At his base, he could build an even better fire, one that would last, something he would call a Firepit. He had the stones for it now, it just didn’t make any sense to eat anything raw ever again.  
He doubled over, almost crawling, but he kept going, ignoring the searing pain. He was going to make a fire pit and then eat. He knew his body had a habit of betraying him, now was the time to teach it who was boss. Wilson could see where he'd set up camp, the science machine stood out to him across the field. His stomach growled pitifully. He gritted his teeth. 'Stop. Complaining!' Wilson collapsed onto his knees, berries in hand. His body shuddered, he beat a fist into the dirt. 'I said no!' Then he died.

Maxwell stared at the screen with a look of puzzlement. A skeleton lay on its side next to a camp, surrounded by tools and supplies, with a hand full of berries. First death, always a kicker. And it was going so well, even got away from the hounds. He’d been sure the hounds would get him. The shadows were silent, staring with him through the screen and into the world.

Wilson opened his eyes. Above him a grey sky loomed, the sound of the wind in the trees was familiar. When he sat up he felt amazing, no hunger or dread.  
'What happened?' He jumped slightly when he saw the flowers around him. But they were not evil flowers, just normal yellow and white ones. ‘How did I get here, did I pass out?’ The place looked really familiar. Wilson got to his feet and looked down at the Normal flowers. 'Weren't you all evil before?'

In his dark room, Maxwell folded his arms and looked away from the screen. 'I went and changed those for you, you're too dumb to be trusted around them.'

Wilson headed for the treeline. He touched the trunk of a pine-tree. 'Piney enough but not all the way there... ' He had been here before. Did someone drag him here when he passed out? He walked a little way ahead, to where he suspected his base to be, and stopped dead.  
Someone was lying there in the grass by the boulder. 'Hello!’ he started to run. ‘Don't be scared I just want to talk! Are you… dead.' The last word froze him solid. He stared at the skeleton. It looked vaguely like him in a way he could not explain, maybe it was the structure of the skull, or that they had the same dapper hairstyle. Why did it have all his stuff? Wilson picked everything up, including the berries, glaring at the boney stranger while he did so. Slowly, he backed away from the skeleton. 'I'll get back to you,' he told the grinning thing, ‘as soon as I can take notes.’ Then he returned to camp and made his fire pit.  
Wilson sat down, offering the berries to the heat. A delicious roasting smell filled the air and he chewed them with a smile on his face. It was a great success, cooking did make the berries better, and the campfire made him feel at ease. 'I am so smart!' The meal didn't leave him as hungry as before either. He tapped his noggin; 'Mind over matter, every time. Sorry body, you don't get a say in what matters.'  
He glanced back at the skeleton. Did someone put it there? Why did it have to lay all curled up like that, like it had been suffering when it died, it felt like it was blaming him for something. He looked away.  
Things continued to go well. Wilson found more berries and even made a shovel with the science machine so that he could uproot the bushes and plant them nearer to the base. Now he had food and a fire through day and night. The fire's crackle made the late afternoon air smell of smoke and roasted berries and Wilson sat there being smug. Then the sound of a distant barking cut through the air. Wilson stood without thinking, the baying of the hounds got louder, like they knew how to find him. But he didn’t do anything to attract their attention, he’d kept to his side of the field. 'Do they even know where I am?'  
He focused his gaze on the distant treeline, the baying came from all directions, where were they? A great shape dashed onto the field, followed by another. Wilson ran for it, heading for the cover of the nearest trees like it had helped him before. The hunt was on again, and every time he tried to catch his breath they would catch up.

Maxwell leaned forward in his chair, as far as the shadowy shackles would let him, his eyes fixed on the screen.

The little scientist ran until it began to get dark. The hounds were still after him and they wouldn't give him time to make a torch. He tried again, but one of them got close enough to snap at his leg. It was getting dark. Wait, Wilson thought, I can lose those dogs in the dark. He stopped trying to make a torch, running freely, then he remembered the shadow creatures he’d seen when he ate those evil flowers, just as the night fell on him.  
And it was pure darkness. Wilson couldn’t breathe. He was so scared, sounds pulsed around him, loud enough to drown out the howling of the hunt. Something slashed at him, knocking him to the ground. A broken melody began to play in the night. Wilson crawled, cradling the searing pain radiating across his chest. He felt something above him poise to strike, he could feel its size, like the pressure of a great creature moving underwater, then his hand touched something on the ground, a dropped torch! It seared into light and the thing was gone, with a rush of air, the melody snapped out of existence banished by the light.  
Wilson heard his heartbeat in his ears, sitting up was agony. His hand came away from his chest dripping wet with blood. Then he looked up and saw the hounds standing in a circle around him. They came for him; two locked their jaws on his arm and leg, their teeth ripping into his flesh. He screamed but kept his grip on the torch, couldn’t face the thought of what lurked in the night. The biggest hound towered over him, there was nothing in its white eyes but hunger and it surprised Wilson how gently it closed its giant maw around his throat, its teeth hot and sharp, Wilson felt it crush the life from him as it began to turn its head, it would wrench his head off and spill him open.  
Suddenly they were gone, as if someone had snapped their fingers and vanished them. Wilson sat there breathing hard and staring wide-eyed from the scene of his near death. He was still clutching the torch tightly in a blood-drenched fist. He sat there waiting for daylight, too terrified to think.

Maxwell shrugged at the shadows around him. 'What? It's no fun if he loses his mind right away. Let him live a little, don’t be so greedy.' The shadows slunk back, Maxwell never could read their entire motives, if they had any at all besides their hunger and “having something happen.” He watched Wilson sit there until daybreak, then the little guy got up and stumbled through the forest. The fellow had spirit. But how was he going to make it any further like this? The hounds had roughed him up pretty bad. Maxwell stroked his chin, maybe I should have let him die, a clean break would get rid of those injuries. But he couldn't let him die too much, it would add up soon enough.

Wilson held his chest, his shoulder slammed into a tree and he wheezed pathetically. It took everything he had to keep going and not die to death. He grinned at that, die to death… by dogs? Not happening. He was very aware of his heartbeat faltering, his body was very unhappy, he almost felt sorry for it. Maybe if it had run faster this wouldn’t have happened. Was that unfair of him? He made it across the familiar field, so focused on his distant camp, that he almost tripped over the trap in front of him. He fell to his knees. The thing he’d made an afternoon ago looked like a straw hamper set upside down, it wiggled, filled with something alive inside. Wilson grabbed whatever was underneath, holding it in his hands in front of him. The strange bunny creature glared up at him with its glowing eyes, its heartbeat pulsed frantically against the skin of his hands. Wilson’s stomach growled but he let it go. 'I can't just kill it like that.'

Maxwell stamped his foot. 'You fool, that’s your dinner!'

Wilson slumped back against his boulder. The ideas were still in his head, all he needed was more resources. The ideas fed on what he could find, the ideas were his survival. More traps, a nice sharp spear. A lantern? He couldn't focus on it.  
His stomach gnawed at him as if scraping at his insides. Wilson grabbed his head. 'I'm starving, I should be not doing that.' He blinked and tears streaked down his face. He made himself a spear to lean on and went out searching for food. What happened to his idea of making a cooking pot? It all cost so much energy to get the materials and he was so slow. He sighed, 'And where do I even get charcoal.’ The science machine wanted it and he just had to look?'

Maxwell watched the little figure scavenge and feel pity for itself. Watching Wilson made him not hear the never-ending music from the radio standing nearby. While he watched he didn't notice the shadows, watching him. He leaned in closer to the colors and light. 'Look at that, he found some more berries. It's going to be dark again soon, Scientist Wilson, what will you do next?'

Wilson made it back to the fire in time before night fell, sitting cross-legged to roast his berries, he honestly felt somewhat better. All throughout the day his pain had gradually become less and less, with all the tiny meals he'd eaten. It had stopped the stabbing hunger pangs, but there had to be better things to eat than roasted berries. The trap and its content floated by in his mind's eyes. He scowled at himself and chewed his berries. Something rumbled in the distance, Wilson stood, waiting, spear in hand, then a raindrop hit his head. He looked up at the dark sky as the droplets fell. The rain hissed and spluttered onto the fire. Was that okay? Wilson's hearts lurched in fear as the shadows thickened around the failing flames. 'Oh, this is perfect. Just wonderful!' The sticks he'd gathered didn't do much to brighten the night. 'More wood. I don't have enough wood.'  
He tossed the remaining twigs on the fire, hoping the flames would give him enough light to work by. Then he went to town on the nearest tree to his camp, but the axe kept falling from his grip, splattering into puddles. This world is out to get me.  
Behind him, the broken melody returned from the night. Wilson spun around, hurrying back to the campfire in time to see what reached for the flames. It was monstrous, a glistening black thing looming out of the dark, impossibly big.  
Wilson made a sound he didn’t know he could make and held up his torch, warding it off. The thing seemed to hesitate, then it smothered the fire in its grip.  
Wilson clung to his torch, now the only light, the thing could not reach through its saving glow and it began to recede back into the blackness where it belonged, then his torch went out. Wilson desperately searched through what he now called Inventory, to combine the things that would make a new torch. He didn't have enough grass, it wasn’t going to work? He fell to his knees, begging what was already coming for him with that sick childish song playing while it crept up. ‘Please, please!’  
A lightning crash lit up the night, and for a moment, Wilson could see the silhouette of a man, standing among the trees. It looked tall, in a... familiar way.  
One of the trees had caught fire and it burned brighter than any torch. Another tree joined the blaze, soon it was spreading everywhere. He wasn’t dying and the horror had gone away again, banished by the flames. 'The forest is on fire,' Wilson sighed with relief, the life coming back to his eyes. He stood. ‘The forest is on fire.’ Then he realized his hair was smoldering and the relief made way for another wave of panic. ‘The forest is on fire!’  
Wilson fled from the spreading flames but stayed near the edge of its light until the morning. Walking back he saw the danger, the fire had left a desolation, the once lush trees had been reduced to thin spindly arches, pointing up at the grey sky. Wilson prodded one with his spear for science, and it collapsed on him, sending him back coughing. But left in the ashes were some shiny pieces of charcoal. He sighed as he gathered them, at least there was that. He remembered the silhouette he'd seen, lit up by the lightning, and kept thinking about it throughout the day.

The trap was full, Wilson didn't remember resetting it but was glad to see it bounced and wiggled on the grass. Somehow the grass was fine, as if it was immune to fire. He made a mental note of it, seeing as he still didn't have a notebook. The fire hadn't touched his base either because of this. Wilson pounced on the trap, grabbing the rabbit beneath the straw construction. 'Mine!' But again the small creature made him hesitate. 'I don't want to kill this creature. But I do need to survive.' The animal twitched in his grasp, defenseless, scared. 'Dammit.' Then his stomach growled and Wilson murdered it. He was shocked by how easy the little neck had snapped, just like mine almost did. 'I’m sorry, please forgive me.' He then added it to the newly bubbling pot, the new center of his base, but nothing happened even though the fire underneath it was lit. On a whim, Wilson threw in some of the leftover berries. Then he gasped as it started to cook and a dish of perfect meatballs appeared on top of it. To say he devoured it was putting it lightly. Before he could think the dish was gone, plate included. Wilson’s trembling hands hovered over his belly, I ate the plate?! But he stood up straight with a smile. This was food. He quickly propped the trap back up in place, then crafted another one, and another. 'They taste delicious when cooked!' He looked up, frowning at the sky. It felt like someone had watched him say that just now. At the back of his mind, he saw the idea of a fridge, to keep all the delicious food in he was going to make today. If his stomach could smile and agree it was doing so right now. He put his hand on his belly, ‘yeah okay you do deserve a good meal now and then.’ Things were looking up, it made him feel a little uneasy.

The rain came back, a fine drizzle that soon soaked him to his skin. Wilson cracked his neck, a habit he’d recently started. He'd gone out further to search for more ingredients to try and cook, and behind the trees, he saw a color he hadn't seen here before.  
The moment he stepped on the purple soil he knew what it was, and said out loud: 'It's a swamp.' Wilson tested the ground, it had an unpleasant color; like it, something gorged to the brim with blood and ready to burst. The squish of his shoes mingled with the rainfall on the puddles. The trees were dead, haggard and thorny cramped forever in painful-looking death throes. And then there was the smell. Wilson turned up his nose. Rot, and a whiff of damp basement thrown in. The bubbling directly in front of him seemed to be the cause of that basement smell. He saw the ground ripple and pop, did something move underneath the surface? It looked like a big pale worm. Disgusting! The thing emerged from the bubbling ground, towering over him in the rainlight bigger than any worm he’d ever seen. A tentacle, covered in yellow sores that could have once been eyes. Wilson saw bone-white spears sticking out of it's tip. 'What the-' The thing swished and knocked him to the ground. Wilson bunched his fist in the mud. Warm blood gushed out of him from his belly, the fresh wound steaming in the rain. He was too shocked to feel any pain but his body managed to get up and start walking.  
A whistling sound cut the air and the tentacle stabbed through his chest from behind, lifting him into the air. Wilson screamed but the blood rushed up his throat, covering his chin and face as he sputtered out his own life. He saw the red mess that stuck to the tentacle as it lifted him, that’s supposed to stay on the inside, his arms and legs dangled limply and spasmed. The thing threw him away. He flew through the air and hit the thick mud with a splash but didn't feel the impact, didn't feel the rain on his skin and in his eyes. Nothing. His eyes rolled back, his vision slowly faded. Then he died.

Maxwell looked away and from the scene of the slaughter. The shadow creatures jumped and danced around him. He shook his head, trying to smirk, but the images came back to him in vivid detail, the shock on Wilson's face, the empty stare that was left behind as he slipped away. 'Don't just walk into the swamp, pal,' he said. 'It's dangerous.' He chuckled but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Wilson opened his eyes. He felt better, not hungry or hurt. Bees flew around nearby and the smell of flowers drifted over him, they’d spread out, growing around him underneath that cloudy sky. He took a breath of the piney air and sat up. It didn't hurt like he’d expected it to. With a start, he patted his chest, but he was undamaged. 'I'm alive.' He knew what had been at the back of his mind for a while was true, but he had to say it out loud: ‘That skeleton at the base, it's mine.’ I died there before, and now I have died again.  
The tentacle rearing up flashed back in front of his eyes. He recoiled, breathing hard. What he had experienced was extraordinary, but what did it mean? He caught sight of a raw honeycomb, just lying in the grass next to him. He picked it up and chewed, the gooey deliciousness spilling over his chin and neck, much like the blood earlier but his face or body carried no signs of any butchery. What am I to think of all this? Wilson tried to feel something, to reach for a part of him that he knew was missing. But he just sat there, somehow accepting it all. Even stranger, he was ready to get back up and go back to exploring for food.  
A yellow structure caught his eye. 'A honey hive! Full of rich and beautiful honey.' Wilson picked up a nearby twig, and when he’d crafted a spear he attacked the hive. The next hour was spent outrunning angry bees.

Wilson leaned against a tree to catch his breath. 'I lost all my stuff,' he realized. The world also didn't look familiar to him. Not a sign of the place where he had placed his traps. And it was getting dark. '...do I have to start over?' He picked up twigs, looking out for the things to make an axe with.  
The rain returned just after nightfall. Wilson shivered, holding up his torch. There weren't enough materials around to start a fire. Then his feet hit upon a smooth stone underground. 'There! I know where I am, not that far from camp after all.' It was the stone field where he'd found all that flint, there were also new boulders sticking out of the ground. Things just grew back, amazing! This was perfect. He'd wait out the night and collect some stone in the morning, then go back to his crockpot and eat and eat and eat.  
But Wilson the scientist didn't feel like waiting, he inched his way forward, picking up loose stones. This is ridiculous, I’m making a fire. He let go of the torch, keeping the panic that rose up from his belly contained, and made a small fire. There, now he could get more stones from breaking the boulders. He needed both arms free to hack with the pickaxe. He turned and the firelight shone on a hound, standing right in front of him. The beast lunged at his arm, Wilson stuck it with his spear instead. It yelped- slinking back, but it went in for another bite. Wilson stabbed it down, feeling a frenzy rise up from the fear and panic. ‘You die -Not I!’ He stabbed it again, burying the tip into the matted fur and drawing blood. ‘Ugly beast!’ The thing snapped and drooled at him, but it didn’t get close enough to hurt him.  
It seemed like he was winning. Another hound appeared from the shadows. Wilson stabbed at it too, missing the mark but making a point. ‘Two of you and one of me, but I got my spear!’ The first hound bit into his leg, dragging it from under him with ease. Wilson saw his vision explode into stars as his head hit the stones underneath. The hound sunk its teeth deeper into his leg and drew its head up, Wilson screamed as the bone splintered and snapped. The second hound bit down into his neck, cutting off his voice. It wasn’t like before, he could feel it all down to every last tooth tearing his skin and flesh. The firelight shone on the grisly scene, reflecting in the blood, then the great claw reached out from the darkness, the broken melody eerie audible over the savage eating sounds and whimpers. The fire was killed first, and after a while of them tearing at him in the darkness, Wilson died too.

Wilson sat in the grass, staring at his shaking hands. It no longer felt extraordinary to die and then live again. 'Local Scientist, Murdered By Pack of Dogs After All.' He got up, his shoulders hanging low while he walked. He made another trap and circled back to it throughout the day, gathering materials. Even cooked into meatballs, the rabbit he murdered didn't taste good. He didn't dare go back to the stone field, never mind the swamp. During the night he began to see things at the edge of his vision, lurking shapes that made his head hurt to behold.  
Wilson sat still, watching the flame intently to try and ignore them out of existence. They wouldn’t go away, but they weren’t quite there either. They made noises, twisted waves of sounds that caught at his ears, and blurred his vision. He rubbed his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept? There were endless nights of sitting up to keep the fire going while the darkness crept by around him, but no sleep. Sleep meant darkness and darkness meant death. He held his head in his hands and groaned. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to make them leave.  
When the morning came they were still there but still not all the way. Wilson got up and started walking and they followed him. It rained and he kept walking. When it got dark he held up a torch and when he got hungry he ate what he could find. It kept raining and he walked and walked. Then the rain stopped and Wilson sat down. He didn't have a plan for when the rain stopped, he was very cold. A bee flew by and he watched it go. The shadow creatures were more there than before, they jumped at him but they couldn't quite reach. Not yet. What happened to him between dying and coming back? Where did he go where he couldn’t remember. Did he leave things there he couldn’t get back? What if he went there all the way, would it hurt? Could it hurt more than the hounds?  
“It's getting dark. What will you do now?”  
Did someone say that? 'I don't know,' Wilson mumbled. It did get dark, and with it the shadows grew stronger. He could see one all the way now, a solid shape that bent down over him, large and cruel all sharp edges and creaking sounds: a shape with a beak full of needle teeth. Wilson looked up to it as the night settled in. It opened its beak wide, lunging back to strike.  
A torch cut the darkness and the creature fled, releasing a hellish screech that made Wilson curl up into a ball.

'Hey, pal?'  
Wilson didn't respond. Maxwell nudged the huddled scientist with his shoe. 'Not going to build a fire?' Still no response. The man sighed, then knelt down. He dug into the ball to get the head out in the open. Wilson's face didn't show any emotions, the eyes half-lidded shut, the slightly parted lips blue with cold. 'That is some shape you’re in, pal.' Maxwell touched the side of Wilson's face with his gloved hand, his thumb lingering over a deep cut on the lip. 'Too much, hm?' Then he picked Wilson up, carrying him through the woods to an already lit fire. He propped him up against a tree, at least now he was getting some warmth. Getting dry.  
Maxwell turned away from the pitiful sight, he put a cigar in his mouth, a shadow version of himself bent down to light it. These were the good shadows, the ones he could control, that were a part of him. 'You have to keep dry and warm to keep your sanity,' he said, getting the cigar going. He turned. Still, no indication the guy had actually heard him, just empty eyes staring off into space.  
Maxwell cleared his throat. 'You know, you did some excellent science back there. You've really proved something. You um, you got blood on your face.' He pulled a handkerchief out of his coat’s front pocket, dabbing at the red underneath Wilson's nose. 'Better.'  
Maxwell sighed and sat down next to him, cooking a handful of berries. 'You can't just give up. They won't accept that.'  
Wilson began to slide sideways, but Maxwell caught him onto his shoulder. 'Don't you want to know everything there is to know about this place? Find something?'

Wilson stirred. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes or move, but the glow of a fire melted some of the gripping cold that numbed him. And he wasn't alone, a low voice spoke to him from nearby, it sounded reassuring, friendly. There was food in his mouth and he ate it, sweet roasted berries. He slowly drifted off to sleep while the person talked.  
In his dream, he became aware of a great void around him. But the darkness didn’t frighten him, there was someone there at his side. Someone holding his hand. Then a voice that sounded cruel said something and the hand tightened painfully around his, fastening him to a wall that rose up out of the shadows. Wilson tore at the hand but it only tightened more securely around his wrist. His shoulder bumped into someone, the silhouette of a tall man, Wilson swallowed, but before he could protest the figure had his hands on his shoulders. The man pinned him against the wall, looking down at him. Wilson felt a shudder move through him. ‘I’ The man closed the distance and kissed him, on the head. Wilson didn’t know what to think about this. He stood very still. A gloved hand gripped his chin, angling his face upwards. Wilson scowled, a hot blush radiating out from his face, he knew there was a smirk on that hidden face up there. He made a fist to wipe it off, but another hand caught his arm before he could, fastening it over his head at an uncomfortable angle.  
The man stepped back, looking at him while he struggled. For all the darkness around them, Wilson felt very exposed. He didn’t know what to do with his face while his legs tried to stand. His arm was twisted further, the growing pain keeping his breathing short and panicky. He gathered up what strength he had to break free when the gloved hands tightened around his throat, the man leaned in on him, watching him fight the restraints to breathe. He remembered!

Wilson sat bolt upright suddenly awake and breathless. He struggled to grab at the memories draining away, like waves receding from the beach leaving nothing but smooth empty sand. ‘I’m… a scientist… the letter…my… bath?’ he rapped his knuckles on his forehead. Machine? What machine? He was back at his base and the science machine stood there, blameless and useful. Wilson fell back and let out a sigh. Useless. Above him the sky was blue, but it was the deep blue that promised cold. He pressed a hand to his face and looked up thinking back to what he did remember. He wasn't alone here. Someone had carried him here, cared for him. He bit his lip, he wanted to see them again, they’d sounded so ...kind.

From his chair, Maxwell stared down at the prone figure on the screen staring up at him, he couldn't look away.


	3. Flowers and machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, you could stuff three decent pillows with the fluff from this chapter, happy flower picking in the sunshine, some angst, end of chapter is a little out there, some warning labels on that one for sure.

It was getting colder. The little plots of land he'd built wouldn't grow as fast, and the traps were turning up empty. Wilson scratched his beard, the thing itched him and even though it was magnificent, it was getting in the way. It did keep him warm to some degree, or he imagined it did. It had grown faster and thicker than he’d thought possible but then again, time seemed to move as it wanted here. There was another thing, something had stolen the meat he'd hung out to dry on his new drying racks. He'd put them up at the back of the base, and when he returned from the morning patrol of the traps, they were empty. He'd have to watch them from a distance, find out what was doing it. Or maybe who was doing it, Wilson found himself thinking about the stranger again, the one that had summoned the lightning and helped him through the night after he’d gotten lost. Were they taking the food? He sighed and felt a little hurt, he’d gladly share to have someone to talk to. He sat by the science machine but it didn’t give him anything new. There had to be more ideas, with the change in weather there would be new challenges to meet. It wasn’t fair and it frustrated him.

Movement caught his eye and he was on his feet, spear in hand before he had to think about it. The figure ran into the trees and he ran after them. ‘Wait! Don’t be scared!’ Wilson stopped before going further in between the trees. There was no use in following, the forest had grown back thicker after the big fire and something had taken up residence there he didn’t like the sound of. If he stood very still he could hear the things... scuttling. Whoever had run in there had dropped something. Wilson picked it up, a neat roll of heavy parchment. A blueprint, he’d found them before and they sometimes offered up new ideas the science machine didn’t have, even though he didn’t always know what to do with them right away, or where to find the things it wanted.  
When he unrolled the scroll a vision sprang to life in his mind, a new machine, round and powerful. For a moment it was difficult to breathe and Wilson leaned against a tree to steady himself. It doesn’t feel right. He clenched his fist, ‘but if there are new ideas in there I’ll have to build it. I’m a scientist after all, and… maybe there’s something in there that will help me survive better.’  
Back at the base, he knew what he had to do, the new machine wanted gold and lots of it. That was going to cost him a visit to the stone fields. Wilson’s heartbeat sped up at the thought of it. ‘I’ll go prepared this time, those mutts won’t get me this time.’ Wilson rummaged through one of his storage chests and held up a suit made of logs and rope. He’d made it a night before when he thought he heard the hound’s approach. Now it was time to put it on. It looked clunky, just chunks of wood strapped to his body, but he felt protected. ‘I hope the bastards break their teeth on them.’ He stuffed himself with some meatballs and went on his way.

Maxwell sat on the edge of his chair, gripping the armrests tightly. Would he win this time? Also, he couldn’t decide if he liked the beard or not. It looked rugged and even gave the young scientist a bit of distraction, but it did hide away too much of the face he liked to look at. Maxwell paused at this thought, but Wilson had just entered the stone field and he had to see this.

Wilson grabbed his pickaxe tight, maybe he could do this without a fight? Not a chance. The hounds were there and they were coming for him. Wilson felt his hand grip his spear and his breathing steadied. I need to survive this, I need to fight and win. The first hound lunged at his throat, there were five of them, slobbering to get some scientist-meat into their bellies. Did they remember him, did they know what he tasted like? Wilson stabbed the spear into the first hound belly, it yelped and fell to the side, scrabbling to get up. Another one bit into his arm, yanking him back and forth. Wilson had to ignore it for now, stabbing the next hound in the muzzle going for his legs instead. Fending it off was difficult but he got some good stabs in. He wheezed through the pain in his arm. So far it wasn’t drawing blood, but the hound was too strong and wouldn’t let go. For a moment this was it, then the thing broke a tooth on his armor and whimpered back. Wilson let out a cry of triumph, how had he ever attempted this without armor?  
It was arduous work. It looked like the beasts just shrugged off the spear wounds, circling him stepping in their own blood, and they would keep biting him at full strength as long as they were alive. Can they even die? Then the first one went down and didn’t get up.

Maxwell pumped a fist into the air, ‘the little maniac, he’s got one!’ He could see Wilson get even more determined, his jaw set, eyes alert, his quick movements keeping up with those of the beasts, it was mesmerizing to watch. The shadows watched too, just as excited to see this as anything else.

When the last hound fell Wilson dropped to his knees. There was not a mark on him, yes he could feel the bruises of their bites, but not a scratch or speck of blood on his clothes. He smeared his hands across the blood-soiled stone and raked it across his face. This territory is mine now. He got up, checking if he could stand, and went over to their skeleton pile. He knew that they would return to this as long as it was there. He tried to tear it apart with is hands but it wouldn’t budge. Panting, he tried every one of his tools until the hammer hit it to pieces. Then he went back to the battlefield.  
They’d left meat behind where they died and the ground was littered with their sharp white teeth. He gathered as much as he could carry and paused. It seemed like a waste to leave even a scrap, a waste like that he couldn’t afford in a place like this. So he set up a new science machine and after a long pause, he built the second machine. The moment the thing came into existence it drove him to his knees. So many possibilities! So many ideas to gather for and create. But he was tired and sat down at the new firepit first, cooking a well-earned dinner of roasted meat. The hound flesh was larger and more filling than the rabbit’s he’d gotten used to, it tasted richer too. Sitting there alone at the fire, the deep night settling in around him with its hidden sounds, he felt strange. Wilson leaned back and looked up at the stars, he’d never noticed them before. Was the stranger somewhere looking at the sky too? He looked back at the treeline, maybe they had a fire of their own to tend to. He wanted to thank them for the blueprint, give them a piece of today’s spoils. Tomorrow he’d have to make some trips back and forth between bases, there might be a chance to catch them this time.

Maxwell stared at the firelight on-screen, chin in hand, and eyes unfocused. He blinked and sat up straight. The music got through to him for the first time in a while, tinny, unsettling music from the radio just out of reach. He looked at his hands, tied to a chair, that in the darkness, might be mistaken for a throne. He sighed, a heavy feeling in his chest. When he looked back at the small scientist a smile crept up his face, an unkind and gleeful one. ‘We need to get you through the winter, pal. You’ve proven yourself adequate, as I expected, but you need some help to get completely… settled-in.’ He grinned. ‘I think I’ll do it in person, but not this person,’ he held up his hands to himself. ‘This will need someone as dumb and mistake-prone as you, my old self will do.’ He closed his eyes and stepped out of himself, a part of him remained in the chair and a part of him stood in front of it; at first a dark shadow that carried only his silhouette, then it became more solid, then the colors settled in. Maxwell looked at himself, a very tricky thing to do when there are two of you.  
This was how he occasionally got out into the world, They didn’t notice a difference, as long as there was someone on the “throne.” The Maxwell on the chair rummaged into his inner pocket and held out a pair of rounded glasses. The Maxwell in front of him put them on and smoothed out their hair. ‘Perfect.’ ‘Time for a show.’

Wilson breathed in the morning air and saw it cloud back out in front of him, there was definitely a chill in the air. The new machine, that called itself the Alchemy Engine, demanded things he had no idea where to get. What even was a beefalo? One thing at a time, first he’d have to get back to his base and gather the supplies that could be carried over to the new base, probably chop some firewood while he was out, too.  
Wilson was halfway across the field when he saw there was someone standing in the base. A tall man leaning against the boulder, reading a book. Wilson opened his mouth and closed it again, It’s the stranger! He ran up to them, half tripping over a lump of grass and then awkwardly walking slower to not scare them off again. It was an older man completely engrossed in his reading. Wilson cleared his throat and the man looked up with a kind, friendly face, grey eyes somewhat enlarged by their glasses. Wilson swallowed. Not sure what to do now, he just stood there at the edge of his base and stared, then averted his gaze. ‘Um, hi! I wanted to thank you for, ...that is, did you even give me the Uhm, the scroll, the… with the machine on it?’ He blushed deeply, suddenly wanting to sink into the ground and disappear.  
The man snapped the book shut and the book went away. ‘It looked like you needed help, was it of use to you?’  
Wilson nodded, then straightened up. ‘I set it up yesterday if you want to see? I have a second base now.’  
‘I’d love to go there with you,’ the man said with a kind smile. Wilson smiled back nervously, he glanced around, pointing at the science machine. ‘I already had that one, it’s a good thing but it has some limitations. Um, how are you holding up here? It’s quite a place isn’t it! You look, you look well- for how awful it can get here.’  
The man walked up to him extending a hand, he enclosed Wilson's hand in both of his and pressed it with emphasis. ‘I’m William,’ Maxwell said, ‘and you’ve done really well here from what I can see. Did you kill the hounds? There was a terrible noise all through the night.’  
‘Wilson, I’m Wilson. Yes, I did, it was really difficult. Well, not too difficult. Do you want something to eat? I’ll make you something to eat.’ Wilson half-ran to the crock-pot, arranging everything inside to make meatballs. Calm down! Why are you like this? It’s only the first living being you’ve talked to since… forever, get a grip.  
‘Why did you pick this spot,’ William asked, ‘it certainly has a nice view.’  
Wilson looked panicky for a second. ‘I did...like the location, yes.’ His eyes widened. ‘Do I still have blood on my face?’  
William smiled at him. ‘There are some stripes pulled across your cheekbones, happened in the heat of battle?’ Wilson shrugged miserably, what could he even say.  
His visitor smiled at him.‘This place does keep an outfit looking pristine. The rest takes some extra work.’  
Wilson looked at the slick dark hair and the spiffy suit William wore. He held his arm and looked away. ‘The Alchemy engine keeps asking for wool, I have no idea how to get it though.’  
‘You shave,’ William said, suddenly standing behind him. Wilson froze as a knife pressed to the side of his face. He stood very still while the knife went over his skin, the man held his chin with a gloved hand, maneuvering his face while he worked. Why does this feel familiar, Wilson thought.  
'There,' William said, handing him a handful of beard hair and the razor he’d used to cut it.  
Wilson stared down at it, now smooth-faced and clean of blood. 'I… thanks?’  
‘It’s not going to be enough,’ William said and lit a cigar. Wilson frowned at the smell, why did he know that smell? He rubbed his head. 'You've been helping me, haven't you?'  
The man nodded. 'I can't do much, and I am trapped here, same as you are.'  
Wilson looked at the man and felt a great surge of warmth for him. 'Thank you! A-again!'  
William seemed taken aback, then he smiled and shrugged, puffing on the cigar. 'You're very resourceful.'  
'I tried my best,' Wilson blushed. ‘Will my beard just grow back like everything else does? Is that how I … harvest the wool?’  
‘There’s a better way, but we’ll have to wait for when it gets dark. There is something useful I can show you now, we’ll need flowers.’

Standing on the field where he went when he died, Wilson noticed how many flowers there were now, the patches of yellow and white made it almost across the field to where the bees had set up residence. With the sky open and cold above them, the harsh blue made everything seem extra vibrant. He clasped his hands, ‘what do we do now?’  
William smiled over to him, handing him a daisy. ‘We pick some flowers.’ And they did. Gathering them felt oddly peaceful, with every new flower he picked Wilson could breathe a little deeper and his movements became more fluid, like the troubles of this world were temporarily lifted. When he looked up William was watching him. ‘Feeling something?’ the man asked.  
Wilson laughed and was surprised at how sincere it sounded. ‘Yes!’  
‘It lifts your sanity, just picking flowers.’ William glanced across the field, he looked very somber for a moment, ‘flowers were always something I liked.’ His gaze darted back to Wilson and he waved him over. ‘Come here, that’s not all, give them to me.’  
Again, standing still and unsure of what to do, Wilson let the man braid flowers into his hair. It was as if with each flower added to the crown it became more difficult not to smile. When the work was complete Wilson couldn’t resist. ‘You need one too,’ he pulled at the man’s arm, and with a slight hesitation, William let himself be sat down on the grass. Wilson knelt behind him and talked while he worked, about things he’d noticed about the world, the way how everything glistened after the rain, that honey was the best thing to eat even though it was so difficult to gather. William closed his eyes-

-and on the dark throne, Maxwell opened his. He watched his other self sit there, arms down at his side surrounded by flowers, Wilson braiding away and talking, all happy and aglow. He shut his eyes again.

‘Done!’ Wilson said, standing back and admiring his work. For a moment it looked like William was asleep, then he touched a hand up to the crown. ‘We match,’ the man said, also unable to suppress a smile. ‘Wear one of these and you're better guarded against insanity.’  
Wilson extended his hand, helping him up. ‘Now what?’  
William held onto his hand a little longer than he had to, then put his into his pockets. ‘It’s still a little while until it gets dark, let’s take the long way back to the base.’  
They fell into step beside each other, walked down the flower field and past the bees. William paused. ‘There’s something you can do with Honey that might be useful to you. If you’d-’ ‘I’ll get you some!,’ Wilson cried, running off spear in hand.  
William held up his book. ‘There’s no need for you to…’ but the young man was already at it, stabbing at the nearest hive while the angry inhabitants swarmed him. William folded his arms, a bemused smile on his lips. ‘Have it your way if you must.’ Then got ready to run.

‘I think we lost them!’ William panted, leaning against a tree, he felt a little giddy. Wilson sat down at his side, his head bent, breathing hard.  
‘Are you okay?’  
Then Wilson looked up, his face littered with sting marks, making his triumphant smile a bit wonky by their swelling. He stuck out an equally marked hand, holding up the honeycombs. ‘Got it!’  
William laughed, ‘seems like they got you!’ he shook his head, kneeling down and combining the honey with a scrap of grey looking paper. ‘Here, let me. See, you can make bandages from this, a poultice to ease your suffering’ He bandaged Wilson’s hands carefully, taking his time to wrap the fingers and wrists, leaning close to stick one to a big sting on his forehead. ‘There, all better.’  
Wilson sighed, appreciating the work. This is great, thank you. How do you know so much?’  
‘I’ve been here a while?’  
A pained look crossed the scientist’s face. ‘Alone?’  
William shrugged, ‘there’s plenty to keep you busy here. Like they will show you.’ He pointed to dark shapes gathering at the treeline. Wilson jumped to his feet, the now-familiar sounds of scuttling were very loud. There were glowing eyes watching them from the darkness of the, very low to the ground, but many.  
‘Spiders,’ William said. ‘Get your spear I’ll set up a trap.’  
What normally would have been a frightening occasion, was now a little bit like sport. William got ready behind the hamper-like trap, nodding for him to go forward. ‘Just boink one on the head, they’ll follow you here.’  
Wilson fidgeted with his spear, then stabbed at the creature half-hidden in the dark. It let out a furious sound, hoarse, and full of teeth, then it scuttled out into the light. It was a spider, a black hairy orb with stubby legs, but somehow not all that frightening. It did follow him to the trap, then went in without a second thought.  
William smiled, handing him a piece of spider-silk. ‘This will give you some new ideas, I’m sure of it.’ Wilson weighed the web in his hands, soft as gossamer and reflecting white in the light.’ I needed this for a while now.’  
‘There’s more, get ready!’  
They ended up getting a whole bunch of the white satin-like webbing, but it was not the only thing the spiders dropped when they went into the trap. Wilson picked up a strange-looking piece of meat, purple and vaguely reminiscent of the swamp. The other man swatted his hand, making him drop it. ‘Don’t eat that,’ William said, ‘it will drain you of any sane thought you have in no time at all.’  
Wilson huffed. ‘I wasn’t going to just put that in my mouth, it looks rotten.’  
‘I’m not too sure of that,’ William said, getting up and motioning for him to follow. ‘We still have to find them before it gets dark.’  
Wilson gained on the man, a silence had fallen between them but he didn’t find it uncomfortable. They walked through the trees in the golden late-afternoon, their muffled footsteps mingling in with the forest sounds, leaves falling around them at intervals. ‘We should head back to base first,’ Wilson said after a while, ‘get something to eat before going out into the night.’  
‘That’s probably best.’  
Wilson peeked at the man’s face, it looked at times that he walked with his eyes closed, but he never once walked into anything. Wilson rubbed his own eyes, he should stop staring so much, not blinking enough was starting to hurt.

When they made it back to base Wilson yearned to set a table, but all he had to offer was the boulder. They sat against it eating their meals, which were gone almost too quickly to enjoy. Wilson hugged his knees to his chest, it was weird to not have anything to worry about like his fears were just gone. He glanced at William, who was staring off into the distance. There was something… sad about the man, he wanted to ask but didn’t know where to start. Then William stood, offering his hand. ‘Let’s get going, they can’t be too far off from the field. You have the razor I gave you?’  
William nodded, letting the man pull him to his feet and presenting the knife which had taken away his beard. ‘Follow me and stay close.’  
The moment they went further up the fields it started to get dark. Wilson’s heartbeat sped up but he felt safe with William holding up a torch. There were unseen creatures nearby, he could hear their snuffling in the darkening world, along with heavy footsteps. Whatever they were they sounded enormous. Then one of the creatures stepped into the torchlight, Wilson yelped, grabbing onto William’s arm. The thing glared at them with tiny eyes, it did have the white glow in them, but it seemed dim, like it wasn’t seeing them clearly.  
William patted him on the shoulder. ‘It’s alright, they’re going to sleep now. Get ready for it...’ Wilson watched the beast lay down and close its eyes.  
‘Now shave it!’  
He went for it, trusting that the man knew what he was doing. With only a few swipes of the blade he was carrying big tufts of wool and the creature was left naked and shivering. He looked from the now bald beast to William. The man waved his hand. ‘It grows back, they can handle it. On to the next.’ There was a whole herd of the creatures. William knew these had to be the beefalo that delivered the wool the machine wanted. They moved alongside the sleeping giants, William holding up the torch and Wilson with the knife. It was then that he made a mistake.  
It was getting difficult to store all the wool in his Inventory, so Wilson juggled the knife and dropped something to make space; one of the extra touches that he didn’t really need now that William provided the light. But instead of shaving the next beefalo, he stabbed it with his spear. The creature reared up, all rage and bulk channeled into an indignant bellow. Wilson dropped the spear and picked up the torch. ‘Run!’  
The thing proved to be unforgiving but not very relentless, as soon as they’d managed to get out of its eyesight and into the forest, it stopped following them. Wilson tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, ‘sorry I got things mixed up.’ He suddenly felt terrible, unable to look Wiliam in the eyes, his vision blurred and before he knew what was happening he was crying.  
William didn’t sound upset at all, more surprised than anything else. ‘Hey, what’s this, we got out of that unharmed.’  
Wilson wiped at his face, looking away. ‘I know! It’s just- I’m just- I didn’t mean to do it.’ His knees gave way and he sat down. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘I don’t know why I’m so upset.’ William rested a hand on his shoulder, ‘don’t worry about it,’ his tone of voice was kind, ‘come here.’ To his own surprise, he pulled Wilson up into a hug. ‘Let’s go to your other base, you can build some things there and show how much you know. That sound good?’  
Wilson nodded, a little sheepishly. ‘Thanks.’  
‘For what?’  
‘For being so kind.’  
William laughed, waving it away. ‘That alright, it was nothing, come on.’  
They walked through the night, Wilson regaining his composure and William lost in thought. He was still Maxwell, of course, that hug had felt like something his old self would have done. He was getting too lost in this little charade, time to go. Just see the boy off to his little camp and excuse himself. He’d shown him enough, even a dolt like him should be fine for a while.  
Wilson pointed at something. ‘Look!’  
Maxwell knew what it was before Wilson shone his torch on it; a single red rose, growing out of the forest floor. Wilson picked it. ‘It matches your outfit,’ he said, then, after a pause, he stuck it into the front pocket of his suit. Wilson stepped back, an unsure look on his face. Maxwell reached for it and when his fingers touched the velvet flower they trembled. ‘I need to go,’ he said.  
Wilson’s hands fell to his side. ‘Did I do something wrong?’  
The man shook his head, closing his eyes and smiling at Wilson. ‘It’s just time for me to go, that’s how it works for me here. I lost track of time, that is all, I'll see you soon.’ With that, he dropped his torch and stepped back into the night.  
‘Wait!’ Wilson ran after him, holding up his light but not finding a trace of him. He searched the nearby bushes but the man was just gone, vanished away like he’d never been there at all.  
‘I’ll ...see you soon?’ his voice wavered and he shook himself to get a grip. It was dark, he had to get back to base and relative safety. If he’d die and lose all the things they’d spend the day gathering he didn’t know what he’d do to himself.  
He staggered into his new base, with all the things gathered, the machine seemed to pull the ideas out of him, creating a new camp around him without giving him much room to think. He now had a tent by the fire, an improved plot of land with a white fence to grow vegetables, the ice-box he’d been dreaming off, but it left him sitting alone by the fire feeling off. He’d gotten all these new things, cleverly put together by his hands, why was he sitting here shaking and teary-eyed. Pathetic.  
I need sleep, that’s all. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Wilson piled extra logs on the fire, sending it ablaze to last through the darkness. He could sleep in the tent, he knew this, so he crawled into the pitched cloth and huddled up into a ball. Sleep seized him as soon as he laid down, sucking him down so fast it made his head spin.

When he got up the dizziness lingered, and when his eyes adjusted to the glare he knew why. Evil flowers, bright red like a wave on dying sunlight, stretched out as far as he could see into the dark horizon. Wilson felt the dread settle in. He had to get away from them, already the buzzing at the back of his mind was making him twitch and ache, he set out into a run.  
There was just no end to them, the flower crown began to wilt and die, dropping petals behind him. Wilson stopped and gasped, gripping his head. When he looked back up there was someone on the field with him, a stranger, a dark silhouette standing tall. Something about the way they stood made Wilson turn from them and flee in the other direction, but when he looked back they were standing the same distance away as if he hadn't run at all.  
It's a bad man, Wilson pressed his hand to his cheek and giggled. Why was that funny? When he looked back again the silhouette had come closer. Wilson let out a nervous scream and ran faster. It didn’t help that he kept forgetting why he was running, until he fell to his knees, staring at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. He rolled onto his back, something was funny but what? He smiled anyway, a giggle popping out of his mouth. The dark silhouette leaned over him, looking down at him with an unpleasant smirk on the half-hidden face. Wilson shook his head slowly, he kept trying to form words but they dried up in his throat, his eyes were huge and staring.  
Maxwell tipped back his head and laughed, then he sneered. ‘Look at you, have the little flowers gotten to your tiny mind already?  
Wilson’s face twisted into something that looked like sadness, then fear, but there was nothing of understanding left in the eyes. He babbled something.  
Maxwell raised his hand and from the ground a shadow claw lifted the prone figure into the air before him. ‘Use your words.’  
Wilson just stared at him, eyes lost between horror and awe. Maxwell patted the pallid cheek in front of him, then twisted the head back in his grip. Wilson let out a groan. Maxwell smiled and leaned in close. ‘I might as well tell you, you won’t remember any of it anyway.’ He took the rose from his jacket, then gently stuffed it between Wilson’s teeth, closing his hand across his nose and mouth. Wilson spasms in his grip but Maxwell didn’t let go until he saw him swallow it.  
Then he dropped him, watching him cough and squirm in the dirt.  
‘There was someone just like you,’ he said softly, ‘a long time ago. She made herself think she loved me and was foolish enough to get herself damned to this place alongside me. The little idiot.’  
Wilson staggered to his feet, he managed a few steps before he collapsed. Maxwell made the shadows bring him back to him. They set him on his feet and he backhanded him across the face to see him fall down. Maxwell’s smile turned into a snarl as he grabbed Wilson by the shoulders, shaking him. ‘Don’t think you know me, or that kindness ever moved my heart because I haven't got one. I only have myself.’ Wilson’s hand touched the side of his face, a goofy smile on his face, splitting his lip where he’d been hit. Maxwell stepped back, wiping the place where he’d been touched and gritting his teeth. ‘If you’re going to be like that I’m taking advantage.’  
Dark tendrils crept up to Wilson, wrapping themselves around his arms and legs, his eyes and neck, pushing him onto his knees while bending him over backward, putting him on display, his arms held behind his back.  
Maxwell watched as Wilson’s breathing sped up, watched him struggle and then give up, struggle then give up. He bit into the tip of his glove and slid it off his hand, placing the hand onto Wilson's bare chest, pressing down. He trailed his fingers up towards the exposed neck, keeping a forceful grip on the reluctant flesh. He felt the wild heartbeat there, the breath at his command. It wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes and a shadow hand detached itself from his own, trailing a line down from the neck across the chest, the clawed fingertip tore a red line across the skin. Wilson cried out but Maxwell stuffed a honeycomb between his teeth, pushing it further in with his fingers. ‘Eat up,’ he whispered, ‘it’s your favorite.’  
The shadow hand gripped the inside of a thigh, then snaked back up and down.

Wilson tasted sweetness but it was too much, everything was too much, pressure from all around him, laced with sharpness. Then something tore at his thigh, making him groan through the sugary gag in his mouth and then scream as it entered him. He froze, a fine tremble building up through his cornered body. He felt them now, hands that reached where no one should be able to touch, invading him like they already owned him. He couldn’t get away. What was left of his mind got smaller and smaller while the rest of him was being engulfed and twisted. It hurt.  
Then all he could hear was a voice, shushing him, holding him close. He drifted upwards towards it, it felt more like a memory than a dream, floating there in a heavy void. But it couldn't be a memory, where is darkness a thing that can touch you deep inside. He tried to swim up towards that person holding him, suddenly the darkness closed in around him, it gripped him, crushing him. Wilson's head jerked back as it squeezed him tight, the darkness inside him moving with unbearable pressure. He lost himself, giving up the struggle. Only then did it let him go.  
Wilson found himself through his own pained breathing. Where? Sitting on a lap? Held, legs, someone behind him gripped his throat, touching him, he was let down onto the ground. Someone had won and he hast lost. He lay there on his back, arms weak, legs unable to stand, head tipped back, breathing hard and his body slick from sweat and other substances. There was blood, his blood, and his clothes were torn to pieces. And there was the man, the stranger, standing over him with his back turned, a cigar in his mouth and seemingly disinterested but with a smug smile on their face. Wilson turned away in disgust, then fell through the earth.

When Wilson woke up his skin flushed with sweat and he keeled over into a ball. The tent had kicked him out into the daylight and Wilson had to keep himself from burning it to the ground with clenched teeth. He’d dreamt something… something horrible. He hit his knees with his fists and cried. WHY! Why couldn't he remember. He felt somehow violated, watched. He burned the tent down anyway and set out away from his base without eating anything, wandering aimlessly just to be moving.

On his throne, Maxwell made a sound. ‘What did that poor tent ever do to you?’ He laughed but it didn’t sound genuine even to him. He scratched at his chin. ‘It’s not like you remember any of it. Calm down.’ He looked at the agitated figure clutching at their stomach and then falling down into a crying heap- he made the screen face the other way, lighting up an army of shadowy shapes when the light fell on them. He didn’t need to turn up the song from the radio, it was suddenly all around him, loud and clear. Good, he needed some time to himself, let the loon figure it out on his own for a while. Maybe die a bit, that should get him back to his daily tasks.

Wilson got himself back to his original base, he didn’t remember walking there. Above him, the sun shone bright and it sickened him. His heartbeat was racing in his ears and he couldn't stand to be in his own skin, like it had betrayed him somehow. I need to get away! I need to get far away from everything. He shook with a sudden rage, then stared: the drying racks were empty again. I know I filled them up the evening before. He combed his hair out of his eyes and went to look. This time there were tracks.  
'I can't keep filling up the rack only to have it stolen clean when I go out to get more!' He started following the animal tracks, making another spear, gripping at his stomach as if to dispel the emptiness there. The tracks led away from his camp and into the woods. If he found whatever did this he might get his food back after all. Something stood in a clearing between the trees, it was big and tall, standing on two legs. Wilson hesitated, but when he saw it was eating away at his stores, he gripped his spear tight. He wanted to kill it, if only to feel something else.  
He crept up very quietly, then his stomach growled and the creature spun round. Wilson gaped at the thing, he was looking up at a very big pig, a very big pig, wearing pants.  
Then it spoke: 'Go away!' it squealed more than it talked but Wilson could understand it, this was worse. He let out a high-pitched scream and almost fainted on the spot. He stabbed it with his spear but the pig slapped it out of his hand with its meaty arm. 'You bad!'  
Wilson had no feeling left in his arm, the thing was strong. Too strong to fight. He backed away slowly, holding his limp arm, only to bump into another pig. This one was even bigger.  
It grabbed his arm in a strong grip, then it pushed him onto his belly on the ground.  
‘You bad!’ the pig still eating his stores repeated.  
'Wait!'' Wilson squirmed, 'I didn't mean it!'  
His arms were tied behind his back and a blindfold was wrapped tightly around his eyes.  
‘William!,’ he managed to yell before they stuffed his mouth and carried him off.  
Maxwell didn't see or hear anything, he only had the terrible music, lost in through.


	4. Chapter with the pigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the pigs, all archive warnings do apply, includes some graphic scenes. Enjoy!

Wilson lost track of time while being carried, behind the blindfold he could only hear the heavy footfall and the occasional grunted word whenever they met another pig. His captor did not stop to talk though, there was a sense of urgency to his journey.  
When he was put down he couldn't feel his legs, making him collapse into a heap on a wooden floor. His face was taken into two paws and he had the feeling he was inspected closely. Then the gag was taken out and he was given something to drink which tasted like milk, Wilson gulped it down, more to get it out of the way than thirst. But before he could speak, a door was slammed shut and he felt he was alone. Was he inside somewhere? He’d never seen any buildings on his explorations. Wilson wormed his way into sitting upright. Wherever he was, it smelled a lot like pig in here. He found a wall and tried to scrape his blindfold against the planks, maybe find a nail to undo the binding on his wrist. He froze when he heard the footsteps and excited whispers outside, the door was opened and he was pig-handled outside onto his knees. His blindfold was taken away and he blinked into the blinding light, his eyes adjusted on a dozen pig faces, standing around him and staring down. He couldn’t read their expressions but their hushed silence unnerved him more than the beady eyes and the hulking way they stood. One of them reached out to him, but the bigger one, the one who had carried him here, hit the paw away. ‘To king!,’ it said.

They untied his hands, Wison gasped as the feeling came back to his fingers, massaging them to his chest. But the pigs spread out his arms and began tying him to a long pole. Wilson kicked out a few times, struggling to keep his arms free, but their strength made it easy to keep him down. They lifted the pole between them and carried him along. Wilson cringed in fear, hanging by his arms and trying to get his feet to the ground. ‘Don’t eat me!’ He dug his heels into the ground but they only lifted him higher. Grunts and shouts filled the air as they passed what looked like a village. Little shacks made of crude wooden boards stood out sporadically among a clearing in the trees. And every door opened to show a pig, standing upright, dressed in clothes. Wilson tensed at the sight of them, they all seemed so thrilled to see him, following behind. The bigger pig kept looking back at him and beaming to the others while they progressed.  
Suddenly they stopped and the crowd calmed down until it was quiet. The pig in front spoke to something, blocking the view and sounding self-important, then it moved to reveal the biggest and fattest pig Wilson had ever seen, dwarfing all the others in size. The thing sat between evil-looking spires, on a wooden kind of dais, somehow it managed to look regal. He was brought before this… king. The pigs held up the pole that bound him reveredly, bowing their heads as they offered him up.  
The king could not move for his size, but he managed to get a paw in Wilson’s face, opening his mouth, touching his hair. Then the king squealed, raising his arms high. The other pigs went wild, cheering and jumping. Wilson picked up some words from the wild noise, but the most celebrated one was; “feast, feast, feast!”  
Things moved fast after that. The pigs positioned him on the grass, to the side of the daise, two of them keeping the pole between them, with the big pig stood guard. Everyone looked at him while they worked, he was the center of attention. Fires were lit and from every direction food was carried in to be roasted. Fruits and meat he hadn’t seen before. Tables were set up and the king growled and squealed a speech, looking from Wilson to his people. Wilson was too distracted to listen, he kept trying to think of an escape, they were bound to be distracted by the food, the were pigs after all, maybe if he-  
The king finished his speech with another cheer and the other pigs joined in with their squeals, but instead of losing themselves in the meal, they formed a line. Wilson looked up at the first pig, which was offering him a plate of meatballs. ‘Um,’ he hesitated, ‘no thanks, I’m not hungry.’ The pig brought the dish closer. He tore at the restraints but the dish was fed to him regardless. The king squealed in delight at this. The next pig offered roasted eggplant with some stuffing inside. Wilson tilted his head away, clenching his jaws shut. The guard pig got behind him, forcing his head back forward and the dish was shoved into his mouth. More squeals and shouts of celebration. A bowl of chili was next. It became hard to follow what they stuffed him with, hanging from his wrists, his head held up to receive the offerings among the wild celebration. Eventually, they released him from the pole, carrying him to the king and placing him on the floorboards in front of him. Wilson couldn’t move, he felt too heavy to even stand. The guard pig patted his belly, it wasn’t that much bigger, but they’d managed to bulge it a bit. The pig king grunted his approval and so did his subjects. Then the guard pig fastened a rope around Wilson’s neck, were they to hang him Wison would not have been able to protest. Instead, the rope was given to the king and the feast went on. Now the pigs gorged themselves on even larger quantities of food, reveling in the abundance. Wilson could only lie there dazed, heavy and full. The king looked down at him, being fed morsels from the feast at a good speed and looking pleased with the proceedings.  
Later on, Wilson could hear hammering, but he couldn’t find the energy to turn his head towards it. Maybe they were building him a house, but somehow he doubted it.

'It get dark soon,' one of the pigs said, startling Wilson out of his stupor. This sent a stir of nervousness through them all, some began to retreat.  
'Tomorrow!' the king said, raising his fat arms. ‘Tomorrow!’ They all went back to their houses, leaving the king and Wilson alone. Wilson strained onto his elbows but he was too tired to really get anywhere. It got dark fast and the cold settled in. The shadows thickened and soon everything would be drenched in darkness. He tried to yell at the king, get it to notice they were still out here in the dark, without a fire.  
No such luck, the beast just sat there. So this was how he was going to die this time. He'd never get back here to collect his stuff. To his surprise the night didn't come all the way onto the podium, shreds or shadows came loose from the dark and were sucked into the pillars, leaving a kind of light behind in the gloom. Wilson’s eyes widened, my stuff! His hands were free so he could build, make a torch, get the rope off, and escape. He managed to sit up, his hands shaking with the effort of willing his mind to focus. His eyes kept falling shut, getting a torch from his Inventory was slow and so much effort. his body kept wanting to lay back down and sleep off the food. Please, body, please work with me here, it’s not safe! A torch finally came together in his hands, when a yank from the rope sent it off rolling into the dark. Wilson clung to the rope as he was pulled across the dais by his neck. The king lifted him up by it, staring at him with fascination, while he dangled and kicked, straining to keep a grip. The king giggled, shaking him up and down and making his hard-won items scatter to the floor. Wilson’s fingers slipped more and more and he slowly began to choke, the king held him higher to see him better, Wilson’s eyes rolled back and he blacked out.

Wilson regained consciousness slowly, someone was holding him tight. ‘William?’ he mumbled, then he snapped fully awake, finding himself in the arms of the pig king. He struggled against the giant flaps of flesh, pressing him to the bulk of the king. But the king was asleep, pressing him to his chest like a favorite toy. Wilson contorted and writhed, gritting his teeth, to no avail. Around them the other pigs were looking at the scene, all of them seemed very happy. And there was the hammering sound again, continuous in the background.  
Finally, the king woke up, setting him down. Wilson was then taken back to the pole and fastened to it. He didn’t struggle that much, glad to be away from the giant pig for a while. The smaller pigs had built a stand for his pole to go up on, propping him in place barely able to stand, arms wide and already aching. One of the pigs looked different, they wore what looked like a flat little hat, and carried a measuring tape. This pig took his measurements, taking great care to measure everywhere. Wilson just hung his head and let him, there wasn’t anything he could do, now that his belongings were all gone. At least William wasn’t here being captured too… maybe he was already working on a plan to save him. Wilson looked longingly at the treeline, the trees looked different here, less piney and more round, raining down leaves occasionally while the season changed, the breeze that drifted by carried the scent of snow. While he was being poked, prodded and measured, he saw what the pigs were building. They’d set up a long pole with some kind of flower ring at the base. With nothing else to do, Wilson watched them assemble it further. All throughout the day, the pigs passing by sent him glances, some stopped to stare, seemingly wanting to get closer, but no-one touched him. He began to wonder where the guard pig was when they came back out of the woods.  
The big creature was covered in bite marks and streaks of blood, but he looked triumphant and walked directly over to Wilson, dropping something in front of him. Spider silk, a great white heap of it, shimmering in the half-light. The pig with the hat came grunting over, gathering it up with anxious sounds and carrying it away. Guard pig leaned in close to Wilson, looking… smug? Content? Something else? Wilson shifted awkwardly while the moment lingered, then the king made a sound and drew everyone’s attention. The build had been completed, Wilson noticed three marks on the pole, the pigs gathered round it and one of them held a rope. The king said a few words, pride, happy day, things like that. Wilson braced himself, if they were going to untie him to put him on that pole, he’d use whatever he had to fight his way free. They’d have to kill him to get him to go on that thing. But the pig holding the rope only pulled on it, making the flowered ring lift up to a white marking, painted on the pole, and tying it to stay in place. There were cheers and another feast began. This time there was drinking.  
Wilson fought to breathe between gulps, but they didn’t allow for much. The guard held his head back while the pigs emptied bowl after bowl of milk into him. He begged them to stop but his words were drowned out by the cheering from the crowd, the endless stream of rich liquid kept flowing until it seemed to fill him up entirely, making him too full to think. He then was placed in front of the king like before and the king was happy, so the feast continued. Wilson’s head spun but he knew he wouldn’t be able to throw any of it up, the world didn’t work like that. His gaze fell on the pole, going in and out of focus on the markings. There were two left, what would they do to him when the flower ring reached the top? And still, the hammering continued. What were they building next to the flower pole? Night set in and the king drew him close again, smothering him in an unwanted embrace. Wilson cringed in disgust, willing himself away, trying to recede into his own mind while the king snored and held him close.

The next day went on like before, only now Wilson could see what they were building. A stage, with something in the middle of it that looked like a fence. His eyes kept darting from the flower pole to that stage, he knew it would all come together very soon and it made his flesh creep with the possibilities.  
There was another kind of ritual during the afternoon. Wilson was released from his binds. He fell onto his side, holding himself tight, there was no feeling left in his hands and he blew on them to find some warmth. He was lifted to his feet and brought before the king. The pig with the hat was there too, holding something in his arms and looking really proud. The king raised his arm and everyone fell silent. The pig with the hat unfolded what he held, Wilson stared at it; a dress, a white dress made of spider silk, and it looked way too tiny and delicate to belong to any of the pigs. He then realized everyone was looking at him. He shook his head. ‘Please!,’ he begged, falling to his knees. ‘Let me go! You’ve had your fun, just let me-’ The guard pig put a heavy paw onto his shoulder, sending him gently, but firmly, forward towards that dress. Wilson squirmed away, hitting the first paw to get close. ‘Don’t touch me!’ They closed in any way and the dress was pressed to him in the crowd. The moment it touched him something shifted in the reality of the world, vertigo gripped Wilson tight and a shadow sprang up from the ground, grabbing him and dragging him into the earth. He screamed into the void where things twisted and tore at him. Then he was cast back into the world, into the arms of the cheering pig crowd. He was wearing the dress, the silken white fabric clung to him tight, encasing his arms in delicate patterns, hugging his body in ways that felt almost naked, spilling out unbelievably clean across the rough floorboards. The pig king raised an arm and the flower-ring was hoisted up one marking higher up on the pole. Only one left, Wilson realized, tomorrow it will be at the top.  
That evening there was a dance. Wilson lost sight of himself in the crowd. They handed him around, making him turn and holding him tight while some strange music played over the scene. They spun him so many times he let his head fall back and let the swaying take over and when it got dark and the pig king held him tight, he hung back in those meaty arms and the world danced itself away into the darkness.  
In the morning Wilson surprised himself the most when he managed to duck and weave away between bindings and run into the forest. He was wearing the most delicate slippers but they didn’t hinder him in dashing away for his life. The silk swished around him, drifting along while the pursuers were hot on his trail, he’d never felt happier for his long legs or how strong his arms had felt when they had grappled for his freedom. He ran until he couldn’t hear them anymore and ran some more. Catching his breath in a clearing, he huddled up to a large rock, keeping low to the ground in case any of them were nearby. The ground was white with frost and when he looked up, a snowflake fell down onto his eyelash. He blinked it away and saw the rock was actually a statue. He knew he had to get going, but there was something eerily familiar about the man carved out in stone above him. He stepped back, white dress trailing over white ground, and stared. It looked like William, the same suit and cigar, but the handsome face was unrecognizable, devoid of the kindness that Wilson knew, instead the man looked cruel and kind of smug about that. Why? Who would put up a statue like that? He could hear an echo in his mind, a laugh that mocked him, made him feel worthless and- He heard something in the trees and ran for it.  
The further he ran the paler the world became until he was shivering and almost didn’t see the shapes coming out of the bushes in front of him. Hounds, but these were white as the icy forest around them. Wilson stepped back, he had no tool or weapons, no armor. They growled at him, approaching with their mouth hanging wide open, spilling their crimson tongues that would soon taste his blood. Wilson’s back hit a tree and he closed his eyes. Something rushed past him and filled the world with noise. Wilson opened his eyes to see the guard pig, he beat the hounds, not easily, but he did it. Wilson thought of running but one look from the pig told him it was pointless. Guard pig extended his paw, and Wilson took it. He was carried back through the forest, guard pig held him at arm's length so as not to stain the dress with his blood. How considerate, Wilson thought.  
Everyone cheered as they reentered the village and the king had tears in his eyes. It was time, Wilson knew, one of the pigs was already standing next to the pole. Guard pig put him down and he was led up to the dais, to stand next to the king. The king said a few words and Wilson listened to them all, his heart sunk when he heard the word that would seal his fate, Bride. Hat pig placed a veil on Wilson’s head, covering his face. There was a deep silence, then the king lifted the veil and took Wilson up into his arms, sucking Wilson’s face into the longest and deepest “kiss” Wilson had ever endured. Had he ever been kissed before? He didn’t know. Then the king raised his arm and the flower-ring was lifted up until it reached the top. The crowd started to cheer and they threw flowers, the king cheered loudest. Then guard pig took Wilson’s hand and began to lead him through the crowd, down the dais and towards the pole, past the pole and up the stage.  
Wilson saw the fence, it was more like a board with three holes in it, one big enough for his neck to fit through, the others would fit his hands quite snug. ‘Please don’t, you can’t do this!’ His legs started to shake and then gave out, but the crowd was in motion and he was put kneeling in front of the thing. ‘Someone! Please help me! William!’ Guard pig lifted the board, it came apart in the middle, and Wilson’s head and hands were guided through. He didn’t dare move in case this all became real, in case he’d notice that there really was no escape. He could see the king from the stage and the long line of pigs going all the way back into the village, standing all the way in line at the bottom of the stage. Then the king lowered his arm and the wedding celebration began.  
Wilson heard himself plead when guard pig walked into position behind him. He wrenched at his neck and found himself stuck indeed, it made him sick to his stomach, sending his heartbeat into a painful panic. He clenched his eyes shut, yanking at his hands while the pig began to lift his dress up, examining what he looked like underneath with clumsy paws.  
'Please!' Wilson cried, tears in his eyes, trying to reach a shred of mercy in the king’s face, his breath hitching with sobs. There was only pride and happiness in the round face; a lucky groom sharing his prize. Then the guard pig undid his own clothes, Wilson struggled frantically at the sound, he cast a look up at the clouded sky, letting out a terrible scream as the pig entered him, the pig crowd joined in with their squeals, eager for their turn.

Maxwell looked up. He glanced at the screen facing away from him. The shadows were very excited about something, no doubt the scientist had died again. He felt the urge to go and check but scowled at the thought. He’d done all he could to help, winter was just something he’d have to get used to surviving on his own. He went back to his thoughts.

This isn’t happening, Wilson heard himself think, his body shook all over while it was pushed into the board again and again until something hot gushed out onto his legs with a deep grunt from the guard. It’s not real, it’s not. He tried to scream again but his body just froze. Not that anyone would have listened, squealing in anticipation. The guard stepped away and the next pig stepped onto the stage. Wilson made a final attempt at a struggle but this one took him just as the first one, entering more smoothly now that everything was a slick mess back there. Tears streaked across his face while the creature violated him. The crowd was getting impatient, there were too many of them, another one walked on stage, past the pig already pounding away, to the front. Wilson let out a whimper as his head was grabbed and angled upward. The pig with the hat looked down at him with joy, otherwise naked. Wilson caught a terrifying glimpse of the length and size, before the penis was shoved down his throat. They were surprisingly gentle, patting him while they used him between them, the rest patiently waiting their turn. Wilson went rigid as hat pig arched backwards, pressing his face close into his fat belly, his throat spasming for breath around the gliding meat. The creature came down his throat, making him swallow what he couldn’t gag up as the length was pulled out. Wilson shuddered, coughing up thick ropes that splattered onto the boards. The next one was already fucking him from behind. It’s my first time, Wilson knew, not like this. Not like this! The king clapped his paws together on his dais, getting a good view as the next pig took Wilson's face, stuffing his desperate pleas back down with a good couple of thrusts.  
It went on and on. Wilson felt his body give up, hanging in the restraints while his face became empty, his eyes dulled, blurred by the tears. They kept lifting up his head to use it, shoving into him from behind. He closed his eyes to it, but the vertigo of falling kept him jerking back to the moment. He was cold all over and kept glancing at the sky, praying for darkness, for anything, for death.  
When it began to get dark the king had to bellow for attention. Wilson was let out, covered in gunk and completely unresponsive. They dragged him off the podium, tied the rope around his wrists, and left him beside the king. There were a lot of longing looks and grunting noises; not everyone had gotten a turn, “Tomorrow” the king called out to exuberant cheers. Wilson convulsed as the king began to pull on the rope, dragging him closer while night fell. He turned to his side and threw up waves of semen, falling back down into it, his body was shutting down. The king lifted him up to get a better look, Wilson dangled, strung up by his arms, his hanging head tipped back. The king opened his mouth, revealing a gaping maw with a lolling tongue. Wilson kicked out his foot, it connected weakly with the maw, making the king giggle deeply.

Maxwell stared at the screen, sitting completely still, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. The dress… the mess. He stared at what he knew had to be Wilson, there was so much pain on the face, a very weak text popped up underneath the scene. “Don’t” “Please”  
Maxwell, his hands shaking, made the screen show him what had happened, his hands became fists as the images went by, faster and faster, a vein stood out in his neck and he bit into his fist, forcing it away from the throne without effort. He planted his feet on the ground and let out a scream, something dark leap from his chest, leaving him slumped in the chair.

Wilson groaned as he spun slowly round, the king opened his mouth again, he kicked out but missed, making the pig laugh. Something landed on the ground behind them, kicking up the dirt as it started a run for the dais. It leaped, biting the rope in a big snout, and took Wilson away from the king. The king flailed, making upset noises. A big dark wolf sat on the floor next to the fallen figure in white, it threw its head back and howled, howled deep and long. The pig king squealed, calling guards from their posts with torches. The wolf was bigger than them, towering over Wilson protectively, and it howled again. This time something answered from far away, approaching with thundering footsteps. The wolf let out a snarl and threw itself at the pigs.

Wilson lifted himself on his arms, the sounds of a slaughter echoed all around him, flames lighting up the trees and the village. There was something decimating the pigs, a shadow tearing them apart, ripping off limbs, and bursting through wooden houses to tear them out into the night. A wolf, a big bad wolf, hungry to eat little piggies. The pig king was on fire, bleeding from several deep wounds and screaming in pain. Wilson stared at the carnage but couldn't feel anything. Then, a terror broke through the trees, marching into the village with the sound of a storm. Wilson made it to his feet, swaying unsteadily, half-falling from the dais and crawling to his feet. The raging madness, flowing from the thing, drove him on, sending him stumbling through the burning forest while the snow began to fall. A cyclops, a monster bigger than a building tore through the remaining houses, cleaving the pigs on its claws, murdering them, turning them into meat. It waded through until it stood in front of the king. One of the guards was still standing, his arm missing and one ear bitten off. 'Big eye bad,' it spluttered, then was stepped on. The king was next, falling into darkness as it hit him once, twice. Then the creature returned to what was left. The wolf watched it wipe the village from the world, then set out after a twisted track of stumbling footsteps through the freshly fallen snow.

The wolf slowed as it saw Wilson, turning into a man walking closer. Wilson lay against a tree in the fading firelight, snow falling onto his black hair, his neck bare against the cold, his skin and dress almost as white as the snow, but stained by unspeakable things. He looked up, eyes empty and dark. ‘You found me.’ Wilson smiled without it reaching his hollow eyes.  
Maxwell couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice, his brow creased with the effort of restraint. ‘I lost…,’ he gasped, ‘I lost sight of you.’ He wiped at his eyes, taking a step closer, then knelt in the snow beside Wilson, his hands hanging down at his sides, his head bowed. They sat there while the fire crackled and the earth shook. Maxwell swallowed, pressing his hands to his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘Can you stand?’  
Wilson nodded but didn’t move.  
Maxwell took Wilson’s arm, helping him to his feet, then walking with him until they left the flames behind. The older man made a torch, leading them through the night towards a glow in the distance. They made it onto a stone plane where a hot wind blew the winter away. There was something alive here that flew and made a giant’s noise, but it didn’t come for them, letting Maxwell lead Wilson past bubbling lava and to a pool of bubbling water, where steam drifted towards them. Wilson let out a sound as he went in, his face contorting in pain as the warm water claimed him. Maxwell gripped his hand tighter, an arm around his back, going in with him. He held the other man, letting him cradle his head onto his shoulder.  
‘William?’  
Maxwell closed his eyes at the name, then looked down at the empty face.  
Wilson blinked and new tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Can you wash it off?’ Maxwell gave him a slow nod, setting to work. He bathed Wilson, washing his hair while sobs racked the ravaged body. ‘Take it off,’ Wilson strained in the dress, flowing around him in the water, ‘I can’t- I can’t-’  
Maxwell shushed him, undoing unseen clasps and making it go away. He pulled Wilson against himself, lifting him out of the pool and placing his thick coat over his shoulders.  
Wilson sat up straight, his fingers clinging to the fabric, his teeth clattered. ‘I’m coming down with a fever,’ he shivered. ‘I might die.’  
Maxwell sat down behind him, opening his arms but hesitating to reach forward.  
‘Just let me go,’ Wilson chattered, ‘Just let me die I don’t want to go on anymore.’  
‘I won’t let you,’ Maxwell said. Then he closed the gap and held on.  
Wilson struggled, a sweat breaking out on his skin, he made a keening noise as what had happened weighed down on him. The coat engulfed him, cradled him in warmth. He tasted blood and let out a low scream. ‘It hurts, it hurts so much.’  
A gloved hand grabbed his chin harshly, the taste of leather filled his mouth replacing the blood as the fingers pried inside. He struggled but the voice was very near, the hot cigar tip next to his cheek. Was this a memory? Was it happening now? He felt helpless to resist, his body going limp. ‘You want to starve?’ the voice asked softly into his ear.  
Wilson shook his head, and let William put something in his mouth; a flower that tasted unusually sweet, while an unseen hand went to his neck, as if to check if he swallowed. He did.  
Wilson lay back against the coat's fur, his head on Maxwell's shoulder. He looked up at the freezing night sky, speckled with sharp pinpricks of starlight.  
I'm so lost. I don’t know who I am, I’m hurt. I’ll die. But the wind couldn't reach him here. The cold was powerless. His eyes began to fall shut. He fought the drowsiness. The idea of falling asleep terrified him. He gritted his teeth and remembered the statue. He looked up at the face above, William was not wearing his glasses, though there was real pity in the face now, Wilson knew it was the same from that cruel-looking statue in the woods. Wilson trembled, clenching his fist. I have to keep some part of myself aways from- from complete surrender to this man. A hand brushed gently across his face, closing his eyes for him. It felt familiar. Why do I know this? Did he do this to me before? He struggled but he was held tight, wrapped up, trapped to this man. He let out a shaking breath, his body exhausted. Ready to give in.  
'You need to rest,' the voice said, so close.  
'I can't,' Wilson said through clenched teeth, tears in his voice. ‘I can't go to sleep.’  
'Sssh.' To his surprise, William began to talk, he talked about a theatre, about happy people coming to see the show. Wilson could see it in his mind, closed off by the hands holding him tight. The rows of happy faces, the laughter and the stage. It was as if what haunted the night around them was listening too. Wilson was just not going to take it, but his body became heavier, taking deep breaths. Until his movements slackened and his breathing deepened. Asleep. Maxwell kept on talking, hiding the sleeping man away in his arms, until his voice broke and he cried. He pressed his face into Wilson’s neck and sobbed. When the sun rose he had to leave him there, he held him until he couldn’t anymore and was gone.

Wilson woke up surrounded by warmth. He sat up feeling strange, then the pain reminded him and his face fell. He buried his face in his hands, he cried, but when the tears just wouldn’t stop he got to his feet. Going barefoot was less cold than he thought, even when he walked ankle-deep through snow, wearing the coat seemed enough. He found a round, glowing stone in a pocket, it almost hurt to hold it was so hot. Protection. Could it protect him from William, was that even his real name?

He found what was left of the village, ruins covered in blood and gore. No pig left alive, no house still standing, nothing there except for one big lonely pig king skeleton. Wilson couldn't find anything to say. There was nothing to say. Then he found something of value, his old clothes. He picked them up and writhed as they were put back onto his body, he fled, running into the woods.

By some instinct he didn't know he possessed he made it back to his base. There he made a fire and got on with the tasks that kept him alive. He didn't feel like going insane or hungry that day, he wanted to make it on his own. The next day he did the same thing, and the one after that, until time went by. It was cold and the night was longer than the day, but he managed to hang on. Then one evening when he came back from inspecting the traps, William was there, standing in his base by the fire.  
Wilson looked at him, very aware that he was wearing the man’s coat, a heavy silence lay between them. There were unspoken words, a mutual kind of distrust. Then Wilson made them dinner.  
William sat down by the fire. He cast a questioning glance at Wilson, somehow covering his body and the situation in that glance. Wilson shrugged, handing him a plate of roasted potato. He made himself some honey nuggets and sat down next to the man. They ate, and while evening fell William smoked his cigar. Wilson decided to keep his questions just a little longer, staring up at the cinders that flew up from the fire and into the sky. Maybe until spring, the air felt warmer already.


	5. Roses and fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring love, giddiness, but also: confrontation! Some breathing room after the previous chapter, but not too much.

Wilson tried not to smile. He put the last things together, keeping them out of sight from William, who stood leaning against the science machine. There was a lot to do before he could call the second base complete, lots of wooden logs sharpened to a point to be added to the wall. For now it stood half-finished around them, it would be some time until he could call it a defense.   
‘What are you building?’ William asked.   
‘It’s a secret.’   
‘A secret from me?’   
Wilson nodded, swinging his arms wide and stepping back, revealing a new machine. Now that it stood there Wilson wanted to step back in front of it. It was a little table with two jagged springs standing out on top of it that held a fancy top hat up to the sky. It had a lever. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It looked better in my head.’ He looked for William to see what he thought.   
William had crept up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. For a moment Wilson felt a surge of recognition. But he knew by now that there was no grasping the feeling, no wrestling the images he saw into understanding or memories. He sighed instead.   
‘It looks promising,’ William said, giving his shoulders a little squeeze before letting go.   
Wilson blushed, looking away. ‘I think there is another machine in there, ...something for me to build. But I don’t know how to get it to work. It feels different from the other machines.’ He stepped closer to the hat and it started to move, doing a little dance swaying up and down. He gasped as the ideas hit him, grabbing the little table to not lose his balance. It felt like the machine made his skull tingle, as if turning the blood in his head into fizz.He stepped away, making the machine stop dead.   
‘Is everything alright, you want my help?’  
Wilson wiped his forehead, taking a deep breath. ‘I think I’ll go and chop some wood first, lots to do today. You want to come along for the walk?’ He studied the other man’s face, the dark eyes were unreadable, and there was a tightness to the squared jaw. But when William smiled or spoke with kindness it felt real. How can you be sure what the man is thinking?, Wilson thought, remember the statue. He noticed he was staring at the man so he turned away. ‘Unless you have to go,’ he added hastily, ‘I, uhm, I know how you have limited time, you don’t have to spend it all on me.’   
Now William smiled, it made his face handomer, more alive. It made Wilson smile too, feeling a warmth spread through his body that lingered on his skin.   
‘Why would I not spend my time with you?’ William said, ‘you are pleasant company.’ He brushed something from Wilson’s shoulder, rearranging his shirt collar.   
Wilson giggled but managed to turn it into a cough. He stepped back, placing his hand on his hips. ‘I’ve got big plans for the base, going to really tidy up.’ He frowned, the image of shattered glass glinted in his mind. Clean up? Can’t have it looking like a mess… He scratched the inside of his arm. 

The trees around his base needed time to regrow. Wilson knew they would grow back and had already found a new place to find lumber, besides, it gave them a destination to walk to. William fell into step beside him. The air was getting warmer, more flowers and even new birds had appeared. Wilson took a deep breath, the sky was blue and clear. ‘It’s getting warmer.’  
William opened his eyes. ‘You think you’re prepared for summer?’  
‘Can’t be worse than winter.’  
William guffawed. ‘Whatever you say, pal.’   
‘What, you don’t think I can take it?’  
The older man smiled down at the scientist, ‘No, I think you’re very capable but you may be underestimating the season.’  
Wilson tossed his axe from one hand to the other. ‘Well it’s not even spring yet. I have time.’ Then William elbowed him in the ribs and he dropped it. Wilson ignored the axe and went in for a shove.   
‘Hey!’   
He’d managed to catch William by surprise, throwing him off balance. But William grabbed at his arm, pulling him down with him into the grass. They tumbled with slightly more momentum than the fall justified, suddenly Wilson found himself straddling the other man, his hands pressing down onto his upper arms. The world seemed to become very still, he felt his heartbeat on his tongue and in his throat, his mouth felt very dry. He arched his back inward, his heart beat so fast it dizzied him.   
William laughed. ‘I take it back, you seem to be well on top of things.’   
Wilson’s cheeks flushed crimson, to his own surprise he leaned down, until his face was inches away, their foreheads almost touching. He saw himself reflected back in the dark eyes, he looked so conflicted. William sighed, his brow knitted in what? Worry? Wilson opened his mouth to ask questions but nothing came out.   
They got up, Wilson helping William to his feet. They walked and their hands brushed fingertips. They both pretended not to notice. 

The clearing where Wilson chopped wood came into view and they almost walked past it, both lost in thought. Wilson shook himself, trying to lose the thought of William down on the ground, what if he’d leaned further down and- ‘my axe!’  
William grinned, a very smug look on his face. ‘You dropped it.’   
‘You made me drop it.’  
‘Who didn’t pick it back up?’   
Wilson sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll make a new one.’ He patted his pockets, a habit he picked up while looking through his inventory, though where the items really were he still didn’t know. ‘I can’t believe it, I forgot my flint at the base.’ He looked around, but the grassy forest didn’t look like it had any lying around. Plenty of mushrooms and sticks, just no pointy rocks.   
‘You can use mine, if you like.’  
Wilson raised his eyebrows. ‘You have an axe?’   
‘I know a guy,’ William said, he stepped back into the shadows and made a flourish with his hand. Suddenly an axe dropped down into his palm.   
Wilson shut his mouth after having it hang open. ‘You can do magic? That’s amazing!’  
William bowed, ‘It’s nothing.’ He handed it to Wilson, who held it at an angle. ‘Is it real?’  
‘As real as can be.’  
The thing gleamed in the light, it looked to be made out of solid shadow somehow. Wilson could see his fingers through it if he strained his eyes. He kept looking at William while he walked up to the first tree, a mighty fir.   
William waved him on. ‘Try it, don’t you trust me?’   
Wilson had to smile at that. I’m not sure. I really think I shouldn’t.   
The axe had a light swing to it but a very sharp impact, the tree went down in no time at all. Wilson put his back into it, log after log began to fill up his inventory.   
William was still there, smoking a cigar and sitting on a fallen log, watching him work. Wilson’s thoughts began to wander again, then the axe stuck. He pulled but it wouldn't budge. A low rumble filled the sap-heavy air and the tree began to move, casting a cold shadow over the clearing as it rose up from out of the ground, impossibly large. Wilson felt the sickening wave of fear, of insanity, as the tree began to grow to a colossal size, it’s dark jagged mouth groaned with the sounds of a forest in a storm and it glared down at him with an ancient hatred. The giant raised a powerful bough, shaped like an arm, and sent him flying through the air with a rushing blow. 

Wilson saw the forest fly by underneath, saw William jump up and shout something, it would have been peaceful if not for the knotted panic in his stomach, his body bracing for the impact the upcoming ground promised. He heard himself hit the dirt, still hard from the frost, with a sickening thud. The next thing he saw was William turning him over, kneeling down. Wilson spat out blood over his shirt, a pool of red began to spread across his chest and there were bubbles turning the blood into a foam, leaving him no breath to wail out in the pain as he writhed.   
William’s lips were a tight line that kept wanting to quiver, he made something appear into his hand out of nowhere, a stone bowl he dipped his hands in then smeared across the deep cuts to Wilson’s chest and abdomen.   
Wilson sat up gasping, some of the pain had been dulled instantly, replaced by a sharp clean smell. They didn’t have a moment longer, the ground shook and then the thing that had been the tree towered over them. William dragged him to his feet, supporting him with one arm around his waist. ‘Come on, you have to get away from it!’  
‘The tree-’ Wilson winched as his ribs stabbed at him, they felt broken, or at the least badly bruised, but he was no longer dying. William pressed his head to his, ‘just keep up the pace it’ll lose you eventually. I’ll be back as soon as I can!’ Wilson groaned as the reassuring presence vanished from his side, he stumbled but his body was strong and kept going. Cradling his chest with one arm, keeping ahead of the thundering footsteps, Wilson shook his head in disbelief. Had he forgotten this world meant him harm? That it wanted him to suffer? That it wanted to kill him? Yes, he had been really distracted lately, with William around, it had almost seemed like a pleasant place. With something terrifying close behind him, his body in pain, it almost felt like a return to normality. What was this place doing to him, and would William really be back later? 

After a while the footsteps no longer shook the earth and when silence returned completely, Wilson knew he’d lost the monster. He took the time to eat some cold kabobs and apply a honey poultice to his ribs. ‘Did I anger some kind of tree god?’ It looked ready to stomp me. As dusk set in a fine mist crept out of the ground, the white tendrils made the air smell of damp grass and mushrooms, clawing up at the red glare of the setting sun on every surface. Wilson took out his ear-muffs, which he’d brought just in case, the evening could still freeze him if he wasn’t careful. Even though the days were getting longer, he was ready with enough torches to light his way back to base. He also had enough supplies to start a fire, and some food, so he wasn’t worried. The worry only set in when the mist thickened, rising up until it reached the treetops.   
‘I swear I saw this clearing before,’ Wilson said out loud out of habit. He decided against marking any trees, in case the tree guardian god was anywhere nearby. It could be anywhere, looking just like a normal tree, until it didn’t. He held up his torch and recognized a familiar silhouette, standing a little way up ahead in the fog. ‘William!’ He ran, but had to double over in pain. A bit too soon for that. 

When he got nearer and the shape kept growing taller he hesitated, slowing his step. ‘How did I end up here?’ It was that creepy statue. Being back in that clearing, knowing where he was, Wilson rocked in place a little. He sniffed, wiping his nose, did it suddenly smell like roses?   
A figure moved between the trees. Wilson held up his spear and took a stance. ‘Get back!’   
It wasn’t a pig, nor William, it was no-one he’d seen here before; a lady walked past him to the statue. Wilson fumbled with his spear, unsure of what to do. She looked dressed for a party, with long black gloves and a pretty light dress, with short, elegant hair that had a red rose in it.   
She climbed up to the statue, gazing up at it with hands clasped at their chest.   
Wilson approached her slowly, holding up a torch against the enclosing darkness. ‘Hello? Are you alright? It’s getting dark.’   
She didn’t pay him any attention, fully absorbed in a gaze up at that cruel face.   
He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, miss?’  
‘Oh I’m just fine,’ she said, it was almost a whisper. She had her eyes closer, holding herself and swaying slightly. Her voice had an edge to it, making Wilson pause.   
‘Isn’t he a handsome devil?,’ she said, still not opening her eyes. ‘He has a way to make you swoon and hand him your heart out on a silver platter, calls you names behind your back.’   
Wilson blinked. ‘You- you know him?’  
‘Do you?’ She smiled, her dark lips stretching a little too wide for the small face. The lady spread out her arms. ‘All and everyone come see, it’s the great Maxwell, here to dazzle you!’ She looked at him then and Wilson screamed, there were two dark holes where her eyes should have been. She bared her white teeth at him. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t like what you’re seeing, no refunds!’ She jumped at him, suddenly half shadow: impossibly long and stretched out, knocking the torch from his hand.   
Wilson scrabbled for his torch in the dark while she laughed, when he held out the torch and its saving light, she was gone. Breathing hard, he turned round, swinging the torch. ‘Where are you? I have questions!’ he bit his lip. Maybe we can help each other. He stood very still, straining to hear, there... crying. He walked closer to the sound. This is a very stupid idea, but she sounded so sad.   
The lady sat hunched up against a tree, her hands pressed to her face, around her roses grew in a circle. There was a table there, decked with a red cloth and presenting a single flower in vase.   
Wilson held his arm, looking from the table to her. Did she live here? ‘Can we talk?’  
She looked up and to his relief her eyes were normal, red from crying, but human. ‘It’s you!,’ she jumped to her feet and ran to him. Wilson used up all his courage to not run away. She hugged him. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said, leaning back to see his face. Her brow creased and she gave him a sad smile. ‘You looked so scared, are you alright?’ She flinched, looking behind her to the dark trees and the fog. ‘Did you hear that?’ She started to tremble and Wilson placed his hands on her shoulders.   
She swallowed, her eyes big and shiny with tears. ‘There is a horrible monster that lives in the dark, it wants to hurt you.’ Tears ran across her face, ‘it wants to tear you to pieces.’ Her body went rigid and her head tipped back, Wilson was suddenly supporting her entire weight in his arms. She groaned and rubbed her forehead, blinking awake. Looking up at him in surprise, she smiled and then stepped away. ‘What happened. Did I faint? I haven’t been eating well.’ She winked at him coyly, ‘need to fit into my dress for the show you know.’   
Wilson tipped his head to the side, looking at her. ‘You don’t need any diets, it fits you perfectly. What happened to you, how did you end up here?’   
She straightened the hem of her dress, tapping the side of her lips with her pinky to see if the color came off.   
‘What’s your name?,’ Wilson asked.   
The lady raised her arm, smiling and striking a pose. ‘I’m Charlie, of course.’ She closed her eyes, spinning slowly in a circle. ‘All I do is be pretty and keep unhappy people away from him,’ she hiccuped. ‘I hate them, they have to leave him alone!’ Her hands became sharper as a sudden rage turned them to claws, she hunching her back and her face twisted in a cold fury. ‘I’d rip them all to pieces if I could.’ She looked at him with her face gaunt and eyes back to being hollow. Wilson stepped back, holding up the torch.   
She snarled at him. ‘If you throw something at the stage I think you should die!’ She stopped herself mid-lunge at his throat, clasping her arm and shaking her head. ‘No, no this is all wrong.’   
‘Please,’ Wilson tried to keep the fear from his voice, ‘Charlie, how did you get here? Do you have any memories at all?’ He tried to get closer to her but she stepped back so he stopped. He tried again. ‘How do you know Maxwell? I… Do you mean William?’  
She giggled then, turning to look at him from across her shoulder. ‘You’re a friend! Why didn’t you say? We’re happy to have you over for the weekend, let me get you something to eat, I’ll get him for you.’ She tilted her head back, calling with her hand next to her mouth. ‘Honey, there’s someone at the door for you!’   
Wilson’s heartbeat sped up.   
She shook her head with an affectionate smile. ‘I don’t think he heard that, he can be so busy.’   
‘Or maybe we’re standing in the middle of a dark forest at night, and you are just being delusional?’ Wilson slapped a hand to his mouth, he’d never heard his voice be so sharp.   
She blinked. ‘I’m sorry, who were you again?’  
He stared at her, then waved a hand in dismissal at her. ‘Oh you don’t know anything.’   
Her face grew cold. ‘I don’t like your tone.’  
‘And I don’t like you,’ he retorted, regretting it but unable to stop himself. She grew taller, the shadows once again taking over her form, her hollow eyes burning with a dark fire. She made a claw and swiped at him. Wilson ducked and ran, keeping up his torch. She didn’t follow but he couldn’t stop running. 

When he saw a fire through the endless trees he made towards it, surprised to see he’d found his way back to his first base. William was there, sitting by the campfire looking worried. Worried for him. William jumped up as soon as he saw him. ‘I couldn’t find you,’ he said, ‘...the fog…’ he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I was worried something might have happened. Did you get away?’   
Wilson blinked rapidly, he stared at the fire unable to speak, his heartbeat in his throat clenching it tight. He thought about the confused shadow woman, then felt his stomach harden. He stepped up to the other man, fists clenched. He swallowed hard, his jaw started to hurt from clenching it.   
Maxwell searched for something in his face. ‘Are you-’  
Wilson kissed him.   
A quick soft kiss that slowed and became deeper between breaths until they were both gasping. Wilson leaning back, the tears in his eyes making the face in front of him blurred and vague, just as well; a clear picture at last. Maxwell held him, kissing him back. Wilson deepened the embrace, letting out a sound as Maxwell grabbed his hair. He collapsed, Maxwell sinking with him to the ground, keeping him close. ‘What happened? Wilson?’   
Wilson shook his head, burying his face into his chest, mumbling something.   
Maxwell pried his face out into the open, hooking a finger under his chin and speaking sternly. ‘What did you say?’   
Wilson shook his head free. ‘I don’t want to know!’ Maxwell stood, releasing him, turning his back to him. Wilson sat on the ground, extending his hand then dropping it. Then he said it: ‘I know your real name is Maxwell.’ He bit his lip, I’m hysterical!   
‘Do you now,’ Maxwell sounded level, undisturbed.   
Wilson gritted his teeth, his stomach hurt. ‘There’s a statue of you -out in the woods!’  
‘I know.’  
‘Why!’  
‘Why not?’  
Maxwell turned around and the look on his face was finally that of the sculpture, cruel and uncaring. His lips turned up slightly as if what he was seeing was inferior to him. Wilson wanted to look away, his heart beating painfully fast, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look away, not now he could see what was behind the facade. ‘That’s you,’ he said, waving his hand at the new stance, the disdain.   
Maxwell shrugged.   
Wilson curled in on himself, clamping his hands to his mouth. ‘You know things! About this world, you- you know and - I-’ He gasped, shaking, fighting to speak.   
‘What you are struggling to put into words,’ Maxwell said, walking up slowly, ‘is that you have a very real suspicion that I know how you got here, and that it is, somehow, my fault?’  
Wilson shook his head. It can’t be true. ‘I’m sorry.’   
‘Don’t be, you’re right.’  
Wilson looked up, eyes wide. Maxwell smiled at him, face perfectly composed. He held out his arms. ‘What, you’re not going to attack me? It’s true, you got me, I set you up and I stole your memories and-’   
Wilson blinked rapidly and fell forward as his body went limp. Maxwell had to grab his own arm and fold them to not reach and catch Wilson before he hit the dirt. His eyes fell shut and on the dark throne, Maxwell pressed his hands to his eyes, taking a deep steadying breath that shook with emotion.  
Fuck. He had to go through with it now, The plan was in motion. He slapped his own tear-stained face and forced his eyes closed again, gripping the armrest tight. 

Back at the fire the other Maxwell put a cigar into his mouth, his face like a stone, a perfect mask. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be so shaken.’   
Wilson managed to sit up but he couldn’t steady his breathing, his chest felt too tight, the world looked blurred to him and heat radiated from his skin. He wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘What, I’m ... wh- Why, what reason could you- how? It doesn’t make any sense.’ It’s not true.   
Maxwell cupped his elbow in his hand, tipping ash from his cigar into the flames. ‘I won’t say you weren’t fun.’  
‘Fun,’ Wilson repeated the word in a hollow voice. He looked up and and felt like a tiny thing under that uncaring gaze. He hugged himself, suddenly feeling naked. Then he got up, only to have to sit back down. ‘I can’t take this.’   
‘You don’t really have a say in the matter, never had.’   
Wilson hung his head, he couldn’t look up at that smirk anymore. He pressed his hands to stifle a sob into his mouth, shaking himself to regain control. ‘What am I to you?’  
‘Look around you,’ Maxwell said, ‘let’s get some perspective.’   
Wilson gasped as around them shapes began to appear. He jumped up, almost going to Maxwell for support but managing to keep himself standing unsteadily. The base, the field, as far as he could see towards the trees, the ground was covered in skeletons. He remembered his own skeleton, it had looked just like them.   
Maxwell chewed on his cigar. ‘Those are your predecessors. This world eats them up and when it’s done, then- ‘ He chuckled, ‘Nice try!’   
Wilson struggled as two shadowy figures caught him mid lunge, it was no use fighting them. Maxwell smiled. ‘Finally, some fire left in you after all.’ He patted Wilson’s cheek but the younger man turned his head away. Maxwell grabbed his chin, making him face him. ‘Those are failed survivors, Wilson, when they give up they disappear, like rain into the soil. That’s how this world feeds. Remember that when you go on.’ He let Wilson go.   
‘I won’t be your puppet,’ Wilson spat the words, ‘you -you sad cheap horrible clown!’   
'Sit,' Maxwell said.   
A shadow hand punched Wilson's stomach, making him fall to his knees wheezing. Maxwell smirked at him from behind the cigar. 'What did my little puppet say?’'  
Wilson lunged at him again. The shadows held him back, one of them twisting his arm, they pushed him down into the ground.   
Maxwell knelt down beside him, his shoes shiny in the firelight. He took a bunch of Wilson's hair into his fist and lifted him up to face level. 'Are you going to be a good little boy and apologise to me? Maybe papa will give you a treat.'   
‘Go to hell.’  
‘I’m already down there.’   
Wilson gritted his teeth, hatred coming to life in his eyes. ‘I hope it hurts.’  
Maxwell laughed in his face and waved the shadows away. Wilson struggled to his feet, holding his stomach. Then his arms fell to his side and he looked lost. ‘You can’t make me survive. I’ll just die and die and then you can rot here all alone.’  
Maxwell laughed coldly. 'Is that so? What makes you think I can’t get more people? Are you that special, Wilson?' The cigar burned bright in the fading light  
Wilson didn't know what to say, his hands started to shake, he gripped his wrist to stop it.   
The fire was getting weaker, Wilson groaned, he couldn’t stand the shadows growing thicker, how the darkness crept up from the trees, he tried to resist, to let the fire die and stand by his words, then his shoulders sagged and he threw a log on the flames, rekindling the light and warding off the darkness.  
‘Good boy,’ Maxwell said.   
Wilson hung his head. ‘You’re evil, you’re-’  
Maxwell raised his hand and Wilson found that he couldn’t continue. ‘Careful Wilson, you don’t want me to get irritated with you. You really don’t.’   
Wilson sneered. ‘What are you going to do? Kill me?’  
‘Look at you, standing there all defeated.’ He raised his arms. ‘I’m sorry world, this man will make a meager meal.’ He shook his head, smiling without emotion and with empty eyes. ‘I can do things to you that you can’t even imagine.’  
The color drained away from Wilson’s face, he choked the word: ‘Village.’ He stepped back, pressing his hands to his face. A tremor ran through him and he felt sick, fighting the urge to curl up and scream. A game, all the death and horror, the … the, he couldn't make himself think about it. ‘You… this world... it is you.’ He said the only thing he knew with absolute certainty. 'I'm going to find where you really are and I'm coming to kill you.'  
Maxwell laughed heartily. 'You'll be insane within the week. This time I'll just let you slip and you’ll fade away. It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, not really.'  
Wilson shook his head, pointing a finger at the man. 'Tell me that when I see you face to face. I'll drive a stake through the empty hole where a heart should be. I’ll burn you to the ground.' He swallowed, breathing hard. ‘You made a mistake picking me, I won’t let you do this to anyone else.’ He blinked, seeing Charlie in his mind, her suffering. ‘You monster.’ He blinked again and Maxwell was gone. Wilson sat down, he allowed himself a good cry, his body racked by sobs that hurt more than his numbed mind could hold on its own. Then he started to pack. He had a world to look through and something sharp to prepare, though not too sharp, there had to be enough bluntness to allow for the monster to suffer, that would make him feel something if nothing else could. 

Maxwell sat on his throne in the dark, the music played softly, he stared at the figure hard at work on screen. He cradled his head and it felt heavy in his hands. Soon it would all be over. His plan worked perfectly, did he really expect any different? Around him the shadows tittered and jeered, engrossed in Wilson and him, they loved pain, they liked a spectacle. Maxwell forced himself to smile, soon he’d be free from it all. Come and find me boy, I know I picked the right person for the job. The way those eyes had looked at him, the horror and loathing, ...far too familiar. He kept his gaze on Wilson, he would not let him out of his sight a second time. ‘It wasn’t me, the pigs,’ he said, surprising himself. That Wilson seemed to believe it now bothered him, he had standards. I really didn’t want that to happen to you. I don’t want you to hurt at all. Not accidentally. His eyes closed and he thought back to the kiss, the feel of it on his lips, the smell of a burning fire and Wilson -he didn’t know what it looked like, he’d let Wilson steal it from him, caught him by surprise. His smile wavered and he opened and closed his mouth. It felt wrong to revisit that moment.   
Why? He’d enjoyed himself while it lasted. He shook his head at himself, a foolish old man sitting in the dark and getting sentimental? Not likely. I played the part perfectly, so good I even convinced myself. He made it rain down in the world just to prove he didn’t care. Wilson didn’t seem to notice, the man had a purpose now. He made the rain stop but it came back on its own. Fine. This is fine. Maxwell started to cry but managed to sit perfectly still, stifling the feelings and tears in a straight posture. ‘No sympathy for this devil, he sits on his throne and takes what he likes, so he likes what he does and that is enough.’ One of the shadows snickered, another clapped. Maxwell's eyes went dead. ‘Thanks.’


	6. Sand and stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a sexy fantasy: throwing rocks at Maxwell! Wilson having a good time! Guilty pleasures indeed, find some of them in this chapter.

The sun shone down mercilessly, its heat warping the trees and bleaching every dead thing as well anything still alive. Wilson yawned, as he’d been doing all day, trying to get air into his lungs that wasn’t baked stale. He stumbled into the shadow of a tree, his shoulder pressed against the cracked bark. The shade offered some mild relief but it was a meager one. ‘I’m being cooked alive,’ he said, his lips dry and cracked. It was a bad time to pick up a nomad lifestyle, the little backpack he’d stuffed with essentials stuck to his back like a big warm slug. But anything was better than sitting still and not hunting down the monster. His purpose was a shield underneath his skin, a murderous intent kept cool and sharp, away from the searing summer world.

He gripped his axe, feeling the weight of it in his hands- It wasn’t good enough, too impersonal. Maybe the spear? That would get the job done too quickly. Something would turn up, he was sure of it. Just like he was sure that he was somehow on the right path.  
Wilson let out a sigh, he knew where he had to go, the area where he hadn’t dared to explore at all after that first blood-drenched encounter. He forced himself back into the light. The white hot glare blinded his eyes, making him reel and blink in pain. As he walked past a nearby bush it caught fire, giving in to the sun with a blaze, the heat singed his arm and the side of his face, Wilson writhed in pain but he managed to keep walking, groaning and whimpering, but alive. All he could do was jog, trying to keep breathing air that felt like drinking hot soup, hoping the fire wouldn’t catch up. He had underestimated the season, and it only made him hate the monster more, now that it was right.  
The packet was back, a neat stack of clothes topped with a straw hat. Wilson walked past the boulder it was placed on, didn’t even look at it.

Walking in the forest was no better, every cracking step reminded him he was basically walking through a matchbox, any second it could all go up in a blaze and take him with it, roasting like a chestnut. But he was close. A wave of tepid air rolled over him and he gagged at the foul stench. The color of a ripe corpse popped up through the faded green branches, the swamp; it did not look or smell any better in the heat.  
Stepping on the weird, roiling surface brought back unpleasant memories. Wilson placed a hand on his stomach, steadying his breathing and trying not to notice the sudden taste of blood in his mouth. ‘It’s okay,’ he told himself, ‘Just look out for the bubbles, you can do this.’ He forced down a snack for energy, and headed towards a point on the horizon. As soon as the ground started to react, Wilson jumped to the side, the dark tentacle jumped up from the swamp and swiped at him. He walked around it, avoiding another one and making steady progress to whatever he was looking at.  
It turned out to be a half-crumpled wall, some evil flowers grew around it and a garden gnome stared at him from the center. Wilson looked at the tiny ceramic stranger with a half-smile, standing next to it was a box. He took the time to catch his breath and moved on.

From his throne, Maxwell waved at the screen. ‘Go back, you need the box thing! Hey! You need that to find me.’ He groaned as the tiny scientist kept walking, oblivious. Maxwell sunk back into his seat. It would just have to take the time it took, at least he was looking, even though he had no idea what for. Maxwell rolled his eyes as Wilson huddled under one of the few pines that grew on the swamp, fleeing from the awful smell and the heat. ‘You should have waited for fall, pal. Summer is too harsh for the likes of you.’ Maxwell rubbed his eyes, feeling drained somehow. ‘It’s the harshest season, he’s doing well.’

Wilson plodded on. There were some houses on the swamp, broken down things he avoided just in case there were pigs in them. It turned his stomach just to be near them and it took a while for his legs to stop shaking.  
He kept blinking and when he’d rubbed his eyes for the umpteenth time, Wilson noticed the horizon. It made him stare in awe at it. It looked like the swamp ended in a dark wall as tall as the sky. Rain? He bit his cracked lip. A wall of blessed rain to wash away the heat? Wilson ran, cursing himself as a tentacle slashed at his back from behind, nearly getting at him. He slowed down, walking with more attention to his surroundings. ‘Careful, stay focused.’  
It was no wall of rain; a deep hum made the back of his throat tingle in resonance, while the air moved on a dry wind, filled with uncountable particles of sand. Wilson wiped at his eyes, straining to keep standing in the furious wind, then he stepped into the sandstorm.

Maxwell sat back, folding his arms as at the figure disappearing into the beige static on screen. He tried to make the storm lie down, but it wasn’t feeling like it. His shoulders sagged and he sighed. ‘Great. No what do I watch?’ One of the shadows stepped in front of his throne and did a little dance on small bendy legs, its enormous beak-mouth mimicking a song. He stared it down until it slunk back into the darkness.

It was difficult to keep track of time in the storm, Wilson had no idea where he was headed or which way he’d come in. Sand, so much sand, it snaked across his skin and got into his clothes and the low hum of the wind droned on and on until he began to hum along. He kept a torch ready, should it suddenly become night, and put one foot in front of the other. There had to be something here, it felt important.  
Someone was there, a silhouette in the turbulence ahead. Wilson gripped his pickaxe, ‘Let’s see if we can chip away at the stone heart of yours, Maxy.’ As he came nearer the silhouette had its arms up in the air, Wilson gritted his teeth but did not let go of the weapon as he approached. He needn’t have bothered, Wilson let out a grim laugh as he came face to face with a tall cactus. Just as prickly, but not the man he was looking for.  
Then he saw the water, a clear pool down a sandy slope. He approached it as if in a daze, wary that it would fade away. As he came closer he was able to step out of the storm, and into a dead-quiet sphere, the eye of the storm, a refuge from the turning sands. He stumbled down to the shoreline, falling to his knees between beautiful succulents in all shades of green, growing beside the clear blue water. Wilson waded in, letting himself fall into the reflecting surface and coming up for air with a heavy sigh. He took the deepest breath he’d taken all day, maybe since weeks, and just floated there on his back.  
He washed his face and neck, drinking deeply and falling back until he was cold and tired. He ate a succulent, it wasn’t that bad, but the chilled, clear paste from the inside felt like heaven on his irritated skin. Sitting there, his legs in the water, he thought about taking a nap. But it still frightened him to let go and have dreams he didn’t have control over. A lot had happened that he didn’t understand, he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful afternoon by waking up screaming.  
The package was there, lying between the succulents, a neat bundle of clothes tied with a ribbon now, topped by a straw hat. Wilson gave in and touched it. The shadow hands took him into the darkness and brought him back into the world. He looked at his new outfit and laughed. Shorts? He hadn’t worn them since… he didn’t know, but it was something for boys, not men. The white, short-sleeved vest went well with the dark trousers, and he couldn’t complain about the black shoes and socks, still, it made him feel like a schoolboy, especially with the suspenders. The hat had to go, he didn’t like it messing with his hair.  
Wilson picked a direction and headed out, there was still work to do. He was back in the storm when he heard the music. It wasn’t familiar to him, but not creepy like the night’s lullaby, it sounded like a party. He automatically went towards it, making a way through the moving sand, then he saw her, and she jumped when she saw him.  
Charlie stood at the weird little table, she folded her arms and looked away. ‘You again,’ she said. ‘Did Maxy invite you? There’s no need to speak with me, you can go inside and see him. He’s entertaining.’  
Wilson just stood there, he could hear voices, not far off behind the sand, people, walking by? The sand seemed to shift into them, making glimpses of trees and tables and guests appear and fade away around them.  
Charlie sipped from a crystal glass, drinking a clear red liquid that sparkled. ‘What was your name again, I didn’t remember, or you never told me. You were very rude.’ Wilson approached her, his head down. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and he meant it, ‘I was very rude and you know what, I came here to apologize to you. It’s a very nice party.’  
She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not, it’s weird. Who does that?’ She took another sip from her glass, a deeper one. ‘Who celebrates when their father dies?’ Her eyes went big. ‘Don’t tell Maxy I said that. I support him, of course. People deal with grief in different ways.’ She smiled at him then, placing a satin gloved hand on his shoulder. ‘I accept your apology, let’s play nice together.’ She made a place for him at the little table so he went to stand next to her.  
The shapes around them became clearer, Wilson saw a garden, flowers, an alleyway of trees, all moving but somehow solid, and in the distance, a house. He felt a twinge of familiarity in his stomach, had he seen it before? Two girls ran by, they looked almost identical. Charlie waved at them, yelling for them to be careful. She drained her drink and the glass filled back up again. ‘He hasn’t noticed I’m back here,’ she said. ‘When he has the attention from a crowd it’s all he cares about. You can die standing next to him then, and it will only bother him if it has to stop the show.’ She drank. ‘It’s that damn book.’ Her brow crinkled and she sighed. ‘I’m happy the show is going so well,’ she added hastily, pressing a hand to her heart. ‘I’m happy when he’s happy, but there’s… something different about him.’  
Wilson leaned back against the table. ‘Cruelty?’  
Charlie blinked but said nothing. ‘I’ll never find anyone like him again,’ she whispered into her glass. ‘I just have to fix him, heal him, be just be a little nicer. He’s had it so rough, came from nothing, his father- … and his mother...’ she shook her head. She glanced sideways at him, after a while of them standing in silence. ‘Anyway, what about you?’  
Wilson frowned back at her. ‘Me?’  
She smiled at him, wiggling her shoulder and bumping her hip into his. ‘Yes, anyone special in your life?’  
‘No!’ He shook his head, then a rueful smile crept up his lips. ‘You can say I was married, for a while.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, you’re a widower. I shouldn’t have-’  
Wilson scoffed. ‘Don’t be, it was-’ he managed to laugh, though it tasted like vinegar in his throat. ‘I was married against my will.’  
‘Oh dear.’ Charlie leaned in, her eyes wide.  
Wilson went on. ‘My “husband” was a monster, and he let all his friends do with me as they liked.’  
Charlie grabbed his arm, he noticed he was shaking. He thought she’d look at him in disgust but her shiny eyes were full of pity. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you,’ she said. ‘How did you get away?’  
Wilson rubbed his arms, trying to dispel the sudden chill. ‘Maxwell saved me,’ he said it and knew it was the truth. To him anyway. Charlie squeezed his arm. ‘He has a heart, underneath... ‘ Wilson shrugged. I don’t know why he would do that, maybe some things are even too terrible for him. He looked so sincere that night. Was it just a game? To manipulate me. He murdered them all. I felt safe. Worth the rescue.  
‘Here, you need this.’ Charlie handed him a glass, it too filled up with the intriguing liquid. Wilson took it, for science, if only to have a closer look. She clinked her glass with his and they exchanged a look of something shared but unspoken. She tipped hers back, he took a sip, the stuff sent his head spinning, evil flower- with a hint of rose. He coughed, she patted him on the back. They drank in silence.

Charlie narrowed her eyes. ‘If you -keep it as a pet it’s a pet. When you-,’ she waved her hand, looking for the meaning of the word. ‘When you pet it, and you, and you take care of it. Why is that illegal?’  
Wilson nodded, a hand under his chin. ‘I don’t know why anyone would protest. They are very clean.’ His voice lowered with conviction and emotion. ‘And so cute. They’re cute.’ He shook his head, eyes closed. ‘So cute.’  
Charlie hung onto his arm. ‘We should make them popular, catch some and give them to people in the, the street. To children!’  
Wilson’s mouth became a perfect o. ‘Yes! But how, do you catch them? They’re so fast, fast and cute. But fast.’  
‘All you need- ‘ Charlie paused, she narrowed her eyes at someone in the distance. ‘Is that- it’s my sister!’ She put her glass down and straightened her hair, holding onto the table. ‘I didn’t think she’d come. Is she, is she’s in her work clothes?  
Wilson nodded. ‘It’s a lady.’  
‘I’m going to try and get her in a dress.’ Charlie wobbled away, she looked back at Wilson over her shoulder. ‘You’ll be okay? I’ll be back, and we talk more. Important.’  
He nodded, they had an important conversation that needed a plan to put into action. He watched her sidle across the lawn that wasn’t a lawn but really looked like one. It really did.  
The table moved, Wilson had a glimpse of something dark, lurking underneath it, and distanced himself from it. ‘Rude.’  
He found himself walking towards the house, the more it loomed over him, moving and waving in the sculpting sands, the more it felt like he’d seen it before. There were no more people about, real or not, he stepped inside the doorway alone.  
Wilson felt cold, and the moment the door closed behind him it sent a shiver up his spine, leaving him with a ghostly urge to blow on his fingers despite the heat. He tripped over something piled beside the doorstep, a bag of something. He checked inside but all he got was a handful of sand.  
‘Is sand soft or is it rough?’  
The sand shifted, making pictures and lavish furniture appeared around him as he walked by. ‘How does it do that?’ He wanted to know, it’s what he did, wanting to know things. Sometimes he found things out, but not often. Somewhere up ahead, a radio clicked on. Wilson walked towards it, dazed, his eyes on the only object that was not made of sand; an evil looking device that played an evil little tune. He went to touch it and it zapped him, sending a sharp current into his arm. Wilson yelled, grabbing it in a sudden rage and flung it against the wall. It went through the wall, and took the house down with it.

Wilson dug himself free, coughing up sand and beating it out of his hair. The sandstorm was over and he was back underneath the sun, but not alone, the radio had made it too. ‘Hello radio, time to die.’ With an axe in hand and a smile on his face, Wison walked up to it. It zapped him again as he hit it, sending out a shrill wail that went through his teeth into his skull. He dropped the axe and fell to his knees. ‘Hellish contraption of evil! I won’t let you live!’ With a stumbling run, he sent it flying with a kick. It sailed through the air and landed with a satisfying thunk into the sand. It let out another wail, more urgent this time. ‘It’s working! It’s dying!’ Wilson jogged up, falling down a few times, then gave it another kick, it flew even further! But it made a lower, less satisfying wail on impact, so he sent it into another direction, kicking away and laughing.

Maxwell stared at the screen, fingertips pressed against each other to his lips. ‘He’s found a Divining rod, I don’t know how. And I guess that’s one way to use it.’ He leaned in. What had happened in that storm? Wilson was wearing something new, it suited him, yes, but it didn’t explain the attitude change. There was more swing to his movements, and why was he laughing so much? Was he… Maxwell watched the scientist roll down a dune with outstretched arms and raised his eyebrows. Is he drunk? How.

Wilson only noticed the herd after kicking the radio towards it. They were jumpy blue and white goat creatures, and the one that took the device to the head was not happy about that. It instantly came for him, the radio still stuck to its horns. Wilson tried to run but he was laughing too hard, his legs kept slipping in the sand. The whole situation was too ridiculous. Then it caught up and it rammed him Hard.  
‘I’m sorry,’ he held up his arms to it. ‘s misunderstanding!’ It rammed him with its horns, trying to gore him. Wilson hung unto it for his life, then it zapped him. Wilson got knocked back into the dune, holding the radio, now with an antler stuck in its underside. The goat got ready for another blow, pawing the sand, Wilson boinked it over the head with the radio, again, and again. Then it ran off.  
He waved after it with his radio on a stick. ‘You don’t like that tune, now don’t you!’ He fell back, ‘Stupid deer.’ The radio yelled at him, that shrill note that had been getting higher the further he’d kicked it. He rubbed his face, sitting up. Did the sound mean something more? He held it up by the horn, the horrible sound blaring out across the desert. He took another few steps, there! The pitch had changed again.

He followed it through the desert, to a stone biome he didn’t know, the radio was going crazy, very much like it was picking up a signal. Wilson dropped it as soon as he heard the baying of the hounds. He put the armor from his backpack on, and with spear in hand, looked at the treeline for their approach.  
There were four of them and he fought them until they were dead, then he picked up the meat and went to pick up the radio. It led him to a little plot of farmland, with a dead tree standing next to a crumbling wall. A farmer’s hat hung on one of the dead branches, and a shovel stuck in the dirt at an angle. The radio was going crazy, until he picked up a metal potato thing. Only then did it shut up. Wilson stuck the radio in the dirt, next to the shovel. ‘Happy now?’ It was getting late, maybe he’d eat something, then travel by night, as it was less exhausting than during the day.

Maxwell watched Wilson sober up and set out again under a full moon, the blue light made the small face pale and the big eyes intense with purpose. He watched Wilson get into the oasis for a midnight swim, imagining what it would be like to be there too. He stared at his feet, too late for that now. The Divining rod led Wilson back through the desert and toward the box thing in the swamp. New clothes, the radio just handed to him. Maxwell didn’t need to watch the shadows to know that they were watching him. He smiled and kept his thoughts to himself.

When morning came it brought rain. Wilson closed his eyes, feeling it on his face and breathing in the earthy fragrance it brought to the woods. It was warm enough to shower in and it made walking through the forest less dangerous. The radio was sending mixed signals. He’d picked up a ring thing, from within a circle of evil flowers, and now the signal wanted him to go in two directions. He picked one and ended up at a clearing between the pine trees, lots of evil flowers drew at his mind as he walked towards the center. There, a wooden ring stood out from the grass. Wilson felt the urge to build here, but there was something missing.  
The radio led him to what he assumed was going to be the final thing he needed, but there was a problem. Whatever it was, lay next to a pig house, a lonely hut near the forest’s edge. Wilson gripped his spear, his knuckles going white and his breathing fast and shallow. ‘Just kill it,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not even here yet.’ Then the door opened and Wilson darted back behind a tree. He could hear the pig walk around, grunting to itself. He could smell it on his skin.

Maxwell saw Wilson cower there in the shadows, he’d turned himself into a little shaking ball.

A crack of thunder cut through to Wilson, sending him to his feet with a yelp. He got out from under the trees and into the rain, the smell of fire filled his senses, taking away the pig stink that haunted him. The little hut was burning, and the pig was nowhere to be seen. He let out the breath he’d been holding and grabbed the “crank” thing before it could catch fire. Still a little unsteady, he walked back to where he needed to build.  
The rain stopped the moment he placed all the pieces together, making an eerie silence settled over the trees. At first, the new machine looked like a pile of junk, then it moved. With a deep metallic sound, a giant head rose up from the pile, hovering over the wooden ring and grinning down at him from above. Wilson stepped back, spear in hand, it was Maxwell, his likeness well captured in the cold metal plates and sharp gears. ‘Still not big enough to fit all that ego inside, I’m sure.’ He hesitated, there was something left to do. With the Radio on a stick in hand, he walked to a smaller wooden ring, next to the head, the ring was blinking red and it was obvious to him that the rod was now a kind of key. What could go wrong? His stomach lurched and a tightness gripped his throat, he looked behind him as if wanting to flee. But where would he go? He was already stuck in this place, this seemed like the only way to get at the evil bastard. He locked eyes with the bighead, ‘Just you wait.’  
He placed the staff into the lock and it shook the world. TAKE FOUR, an insidious voice told him without speaking. Birds flew up scattering to the skies and two shadow hands rose up from the ground, gripping him tight, squeezing the air out of him.  
‘It’s happened like this before!’ he groaned as the hands gripped him tighter and tighter. He threw out four random things from his inventory and they pulled him down into darkness.

Wilson walked through a shadowy hallway, orbs of light floated nearby but never gave enough light to see where he was. He could feel shadows cling to his skin like trailing cobwebs. In front of him, a big door appeared out of the night, so big it made him feel very small the closer he got. He pushed it open, letting a thin beam of light shine on a figure sitting in a chair.  
Wilson knew the name of that silhouette, it was Maxwell. He must’ve said it out loud because the figure looked up.  
Just sitting in his chair, legs spread, hands on the armrests and looking smug: Maxwell the monster. Wison hated that his eyes lingered on the shape of the jaw, the distinct lips.  
He couldn’t see the eyes, but the mouth smirked. ‘Is that for me?’ Maxwell asked.  
Wilson looked at the knife in his hand, he gripped it tight. ‘Yes.’  
‘You’re going to stab me with that, going to put it in me?’  
Wilson didn’t like how he’d said that, he lingered in the doorway, half leaning against it. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  
The man raised his chin at him. ‘C’mere, can’t get at me from all the way over there.’  
Wilson gritted his teeth and walked up, he felt like he was getting smaller again, the closer he got. By the time he reached the chair, he didn’t see another way, so he crawled onto the man’s lap. Then he stabbed him with the knife, burying it into his shoulder as the man cried out in shock.  
To his surprise, Wilson found himself crying, his fingers slick with darkness from the wound. The man placed a hand to the back of his neck, pressing him close, holding him, shushing him. Wilson gripped the hilt tighter, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He pulled the knife back to stab again, and Maxwell let him drive it into his heart. Wilson sat back staring at it, sticking out of his chest. Dark shadows curled up from the wound, they went into Maxwell’s eyes, making them completely dark. Wilson shook his head, his legs wouldn’t work as he sat there in fear, on his enemy’s lap. A slow smile crept up that cruel face and Maxwell leaned closer to him, driving in the knife deeper as he closed the distance between them.  
They kissed. Wilson kept his arms at his sides, tried to get some distance to himself between breaths but the other man kept closing the gap with that self-assured smirk. Then he gave in a kissed back, hard, trying to make it hurt as much as it was sickening him. He gripped Maxwell’s hair, crushed their mouths together, biting into those lips, he was shaking, crying.  
They ended up on the floor, Maxwell on top, pinning Wilson’s arms above his head with one hand. He leaned in for a kiss. ‘This is how you use it,’ he whispered, then he stabbed Wilson with the knife, driving it up between his ribs and turning it. Wilson froze as the sharp cold pierced his heart, Maxwell just sat there, studying his face.  
But it didn’t kill him.  
He watched the shadows flow from the knife wound up to his face. Maxwell gripped the side’s of his head, making him breathe them in, they stung his nose and mouth as they entered, taking his sight while they crept in through his closed eyelids, into his head. He saw himself standing in a room, his room, holding beakers that shattered to the floorboards because he was overtired. Groceries left forgotten by the door, food spoiling away while his belly ached for some sustenance. His notes and formulas!  
‘I’m Wilson,’ he gasped, ‘Wilson Percival Higgsbury, that’s me.’

He strained to hold on to the images, but when he opened his eyes -he still knew. ‘My house,’ he sat up in the morning light and remembered. ‘That was my house.’ He threw up his arms. ‘My house! I’m Wilson and that was my house!’  
‘I bet you want to go back.’  
Wilson turned slowly. Maxwell was standing not far from him on the grass, dressed in his fancy suit, smoking his cigar.  
Wilson jumped to his feet, reaching into his inventory and getting… a stone?! He tried to find his stuff but his inventory was alarmingly empty. All he had was the stone, an empty trap, a stick, and a torch. He just stood there in shock, feeling very naked. Even his backpack was gone. He looked at Maxwell, hurt in his voice. ‘You stole my things?’  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘It’s part of this... challenge. Didn’t the gate tell you you could only take four?’  
‘It was squeezing me to death, I had no time to think.’  
‘You’ll do better next time.’  
Wilson threw the stone at him, it hit Maxwell on the shoulder with a satisfying thump. Maxwell just stood there, letting Wilson grin at him.  
‘Where’s my stuff, maxwell?’ He threw the stick and the trap. He walked up with the torch.  
Maxwell held up his arms. ‘It’s the rules. Get through five challenges and meet me in the last. If you can, then I will let you go home.’  
‘Liar.’  
‘It’s the truth.’  
Wilson started to pace, casting glares at the man. ‘Has anyone ever made it, from all the other survivors?’  
Maxwell grinned. ‘No.’  
‘What are these challenges?’  
Maxwell studied the back of his gloved hand. ‘Just what you’ve been doing, surviving, gathering some things, but under harsh circumstances. You’re good at that, maybe you have a chance.’  
Wilson waved away the flattery. ‘And if I reach you, you will let me go home? To my house.’  
‘I will.’  
Wilson paced some more.  
Maxwell watched him. ‘You might as well start over, you won’t do well with what you chose to take with you. Just die, you start over at stage one and get a fresh new start.’  
Wilson shook his head, he grabbed a stick, gathered some flint, and- just stood there. He turned on Maxwell, hands on his hips. ‘Why can’t I make my things?’  
Maxwell smiled.‘That would be taking things with you, wouldn’t it? You have to learn everything again too. It’s really not much of a challenge otherwise. You could- ’  
Wilson chucked a piece of flint at him, it bounced off the man’s eyebrow and it made him disappear. Wilson clapped his hands together. ‘I’ll figure it out, thank you.’  
He set out across the field, so far it looked no different than anything else he’d seen. He didn’t believe the man, but he now had a real place to get back to. A home. His home. Hopefully, he hadn’t been gone for too long.


	7. Archipelagic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If getting vored by the ground sounds like a good past time event, this is the chapter for you! It's also time Wilson found some companionship :)

Wilson dropped the stick, he picked it up again but it slipped and fell for the second time. He groaned when he realized. No space in his inventory. It had been a while since he’d had that problem. With the radio on a stick in one hand, and at least three torches, there was just not enough room for everything. No way to make a backpack. He didn’t have enough materials to make a science machine, he didn’t have enough materials to make an axe, so he couldn’t get the logs for a campfire. Which meant he would have to spend another night running around in the dark with a torch. Also, he still didn’t know where he was. But he was somewhere new, so not knowing where he was, was not the same as being lost, it was like discovering you were not where you were before, and that was a kind of knowing where you were - Wilson kneaded his forehead, did that make sense? He was trying to keep his sanity up, but the situation was getting to him.

First thing to not make him happy; there were no “things” to be found, making the radio a silent deadweight he had to drag with him at all times. Also, it felt like he was going around in circles. There was the field he’d woken up in, it had some grass and sticks, a few berry bushes, so enough torches for the night and at least food. But there was a big swamp next to it and now way around it. The thought that he was on a small island had occurred to him, but he filed it away for later.  
There was nothing else for it, it was time to venture out onto that swamp. Wilson steadied himself. He’d done it before, no big deal. But the moment he stepped on the mushy surface there they were in the distance, the little huts. ‘Just go around, you can do this.’ Something flew past his ear at a high pitch, he swatted at it but it was gone before he could see what it was.

Wilson navigated the swamp, plenty of tentacles to avoid, a few dead trees to keep a sense of direction. He leaned forward, grasping his knees and breathing hard. He’d found some berries earlier and wasn’t hungry yet, what was making him so tired? He raised his arm out of an instinct and saw a giant bug attached to his inner wrist. It drank from him, filling a seethrough bulge of a stomach with his blood. He punched it with a torch and it caught fire, dwindling down to the ground and burning to ashes. Wilson shuddered, frantically checking his body for more parasites. He fought off the nausea and walked on, his torch ready to strike at the slightest sound. His shoe sank down and bubbles erupted around his ankle, he barely made it out of the tentacle swipe in time, rolling through the purple sludge and getting up again. Wilson glared at the shiny, hungry tentacle, blindly cutting the air. He held the sides of his face. ‘Get a grip, keep it together.’

He walked all day and still the damn radio was of no help at all. It did lead him back to where he started the little adventure, the place where a wooden circle waited to be assembled on. Wilson kicked the side of it, then sat down with his head in his hands.  
A sound behind him made his jump to his feet, radio ready to be used as a club. He wasn’t alone, a skeleton had appeared at the other side of the wooden circle, it mirrored him perfectly, sitting in despair all huddled up, another failed survivor that was nothing special.  
‘Haha, I get the message.’ Wilson longed to bash the thing to pieces with a hammer. Then he noticed the weapon, the skeleton was holding a spear. He seized it, dropping one stack of grass to hold it. Then without giving himself time to think he marched back out across the swamp. If the pigs were hiding one of the things he needed... -Wilson kept walking until he reached the little huts. They did look a little different, now that he was up close, more broken down. The ground opened up next to his foot and the sight of a large hole surrounded by sharp teeth made him Wilson yell out. He stared at what looked like an evil mouth with a bottomless throat leading directly into the soil. Now the ground wanted to eat him? God!  
He’d attracted attention to himself. A door slammed open and a monster walked out of one of the huts. Wilson’s face contorted in something between horror and disgust, he held up his spear. ‘S-step back!’ It gurgled at him, its eyes spaced wide apart and unfocused, a big lumpy green body, covered in scales and glistening, it ran at him. The smell was terrible, a sour fish stench that made his eyes burn. Wilson jabbed his spear into the creature’s side and it belted him with a fist, sending him back. Wilson staggered, his head spinning and nose bleeding across his mouth. But he had his spear up, stabbing the fist that came for him. His body got into a wider stance and held its place. No retreat or surrender. Het spat blood across the swamp between them. ‘I’m not getting captured, you ugly fish demon.’  
The thing just gurgled, lunging at him again, running into the sharp metal of the spear. ‘Brainless!’ Wilson stabbed its thick throat, drawing blood, but it didn’t react in pain at all, though he could see the dark purple goo mingling with his own blood on the ground. Then it got lucky, Wilson overreached and it slammed its entire arm against the side of his head.  
The spear fell from his hand and Wilson stepped back, his vision clouded red on one side, his hands shaking.  
It reached up to its meaty arms and lunged, Wilson fell back and kept falling. The mouth in the ground had opened up impossibly wide around him, a terrifying black hole that quivered eagerly. Wilson screamed as it closed over him, it’s teeth snipping off a piece of his hair as they shut out the sky. He kicked out in the red-rimmed darkness, spread his arms against the smooth hot walls that were closing in. I’m still alive! I’m being eaten alive! Then it swallowed.

The walls pressed him into a ball without effort and moved him down, down through layers of lukewarm slime like a small piece of meat. He heard himself whimper though the loud, digestive sounds of the tunnel walls. It sped up, squeezing him forward, faster, slickening him up. Daylight erupted around him as the mouth spat him out, sending him into an arch through the air.  
Wilson hit the flat stone ground and stuck there.  
He somehow managed to get up, his arms shaking with the strain. To his eyes, he was wearing the white dress and even though around him it was daytime, he saw houses burning in the night and heard the pigs being torn apart. He crawled away from the hole and staggered to his feet.

Wilson blinked. He was sitting on a fallen tree, his hands wrung together. There were tears in his eyes, had he been crying? He looked at his hands more closely, there were color stains on them and the grass was littered with flower petals that wouldn’t fit into his inventory anymore. There was also a very crude flower crown on his head. He took a deep breath, and got unsteadily to his feet. He’d somehow managed to… make himself be okay again. How did he get here between the trees? He closed his eyes, standing very still, but he didn’t remember at all. It didn’t feel like Maxwell had stolen the memories either... More like, some part of him had gone away, while other parts took care of things for a while. There was just no communication between these parts of himself, and maybe that was fine? For now, anyway, it meant not dying and going on. He traced his hands over the fabric of his shorts, this reassured him somehow.

He’d also managed to gather some stone and Wilson crafted an axe. He chopped wood, but not too much, and felt guilty. Why guilty? Guilty to himself? He walked through the woods, scavenging. Why guilty? It was too much to think about, so he focused on getting berries and some mushrooms.  
By nightfall, he’d set up a campfire at the edge of a stone field. He’d heard some unknown creatures before it got dark, but they were far enough away to not bother about. Wilson built a science machine. ‘That’s what I do,’ he said and started to blueprint in advance. That way he could take ideas with him to build later without being near the machine. He shook his head, standing back and laughing. This must have seemed incredulous to the Wilson that had been at his house, plodding away to discover anything at all- at any cost. He could still see that Wilson, he’d looked so earnest and… relentless to himself. Oh. Now he knew why he felt guilty. Even though he was sitting at the fire alone, he wasn’t, not really, his… body was right there with him. He sighed, hunching his back and leaning his arms on his knees, staring at the flames but not seeing them.  
He clasped his hands and it felt a little silly, but also grave at the same time. ‘We’ve been through a lot,’ he said, feeling the vibration of his voice in his throat, ‘more than reasonably expected of bodies in the world out there and you did so well, even when things got too much for me, you just… go on.’ He swallowed. ‘When I get you back in our house, I won’t ignore you. When you’re hungry I’ll eat and I’ll protect you against the cold. I- I was an idiot and I got us into this, so I’ll try and get us out.’ He patted his shoulder, a silly grin on his face.

Maxwell had watched the scene in silence and now he stared off into space. He’d wondered why Wilson had suddenly become more competent after going through the wormhole. Yes, he’d had an eerily vacant face the whole time but now it seemed he’d… fractured somehow? He scratched at his face. None of the other failed survivors had done that. Or maybe they had and he hadn’t paid any attention. ‘I picked a good one, certainly.’  
Wilson sat up through the night preparing, there was still a lot more in store for him. When it dawned the scientist set out, his back slightly straighter and his eyes alert. Maxwell sat up straight, his entire focus on the screen, the shadows around him had the same rapt attention.

Crows flew around him while he walked, Wilson kept his eyes on the horizon. There seemed to be nothing else here but the small forest and the smooth plane of the stone field. He’d stocked up on essentials and was holding the radio up high, it was picking up a signal. But there was another sound, he tried to ignore it because it sounded like trouble, but he found himself walking towards it regardless.  
Over a rise in the land Wilson hunched down low behind a group of boulders and surveyed the land below. The local monsters had found something else to terrorize it seems. Two bird creatures were taking turns ramming their heads into a small animal. Wilson clenched his fists. Two of them were too much to fight, and their entire upper body seemed to be made up of one giant eyeball. He froze when he recognized the animal they were beating. ‘That’s a dog! They’re beating up a dog!’ Tears sprang into his eyes and a rush of anger pushed him to his feet. He ran down the slope. ‘You leave him alone!’ He bellowed, scooping up the dog in his arms and making a run for it.  
They were fast, and their screeches made his eardrum pop on one side, but he managed to get away. Like most monsters they lost interest after a while.  
Wilson put the dog down onto the ground. ‘Are you hurt?’ he knelt in front of it to check its paws. It licked his face, making him laugh and push it off. ‘Yeah, yeah! You’re welcome.’ It stared at him without eyes. Wilson frowned, tilting his head to one side. ‘Are you really a dog?’ Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t exactly remember what they looked like. It jumped up and down on its short stumpy legs, Wilson pressed his hands into his cheeks and made a noise. ‘You’re such a cute-wootie,’ he leaned in, ruffling up the bright orange fur. ‘Who’s a cute doggie-dog? Is that yuw?’  
It started licking him again and Wilson toppled over, trying to get it off him but not too much. He kicked the air, lying on his back and holding the dog thing up in his arms, smiling at it with shiny eyes. ‘A baby.’  
He sat up abruptly and put it back on the ground, looking away. ‘But you have these tiny horns, and a big mouth and I don’t think you’re a dog at all.’  
It made a noise at him that could have been a bark. Wilson glanced back at it over his shoulder, his eyes growing big again. He automatically petted it and it rolled over, making him gush and poor out all the baby talk over it.  
Wilson straightened up, dusting off his pants. ‘I’m sorry. I’m on a very important mission and you will just have to make it on your own from now on.’ He took a step away. The thing let out the smallest, barely audible whimper. Wilson fell to his knees and cradled it in his arms. ‘Okay! You can come along but only forever, alright?’ It licked his face and spat out a stick against his chest.  
Wilson picked it up. ‘It’s… a bone.. with, an eye on it.’ He threw it away, sending the not-dog bouncing after it. Wilson waited patiently, then got worried and went looking.  
It was sitting there next to the eye bone stick like a good boy. Wilson petted the dog between the horns. ‘Good try but we’ll have to work on your game of fetch.’  
‘Come on.’ He walked away. It whined at him and he ran back. ‘You need the stick?’ He picked up the bone, and the eye on top of it blinked at him. Just another day in the life of Wilson the scientist.  
As long as he had the stick the dog could follow him.  
‘A man and his dog,’ Wilson said, ‘as it’s supposed to be.’ He let out a sigh and even found a walking stick to complete the look. He felt a little faster, a little lighter, traveling this way.

On his throne, Maxwell held up his hands. ‘Where did HE come from.’ The thing hadn’t bothered to appear for an eternity and suddenly it was all buddy-buddy with Wilson.’ He paused. Maybe because so many failed survivors had tried to kill it on sight, or set it on fire, or tried to eat it. He watched Wilson pet and adore it, no wonder it was like butter in his hands. He rolled his eyes.

Wilson held up a handful of berries. ‘You want some good boy berries?’ he grinned and sang the next sentence; “They have your name on them.” The dog opened the top of his head, revealing a dark hole that made Wilson winch. He smiled weakly. ‘A big appetite for such a tiny thing.’ He put in the berries and was surprised to “feel” another inventory. Carefully, he reached in and retrieved them. The berries were perfect like they hadn’t gone into a mouth at all.  
‘Are you okay with this?’ He leaned back and the dog closed his mouth again, also perfectly fine. ‘You want to carry dad’s sticks?’ The mouth reopened and fit in all of his sticks, plus the berries and stones. Wilson sniffed. ‘I’m calling you Chester because you’re a chest, get it?’ He pressed his face into the soft fur, talking into it; ‘But actually it’s because I love you with all my heart and I keep that in my chest.’

Maxwell let out a groan and rolled his eyes harder. ‘Enough already, it’s just a creature, it doesn’t understand love or anything.’ He folded his arms, glaring at the two prancing about on screen. Such a waste of time. He had to smile at himself. Jealous of an animated hairball on stumpy legs because Wilson gushed over it? Hardly. It was just that Wilson had walked past the farm twice now, distracted as he was, he didn’t listen to his radio.

Wilson dropped the radio and sucked his fingers. Did it just shock him out of nowhere? Chester growled at it. ‘Good boy,’ Wilson told it, petting the heckled fur. He picked the radio back up and noticed the signal had changed.  
‘We’re close! Come on Chessy, there’s a thing we need nearby.’  
Wilson scratched the back of his head as he walked towards the crumbling stone wall. ‘How did I miss this?’ The closer he got the quieter it became, until the place seemed to be seeped in it, suppressing even his own footsteps. Chester stayed close to his heels, it felt like walking on eggshells somehow. He didn’t want to make sounds, even though they weren’t possible to make. The dead tree was there again, as were the empty plots of lands. Wilson looked around for the thing he knew would be here; the potato thing. Fitting for a farm, he guessed. Yet this place didn’t look like anything could grow here, the soil seemed not only barren but dry, empty.  
Wilson swallowed, his throat felt dry, he couldn’t wait to be gone from here. He held up the radio and almost dropped it when a different sound played from it; the angry voice of someone shouting, far away.  
‘That’s, unnecessarily spooky.’ He followed the shouting until it made the speakers whine and picked up the first Thing. He stuffed the radio away, and gave the potato thing to Chester to hold.  
There was now a second wall, standing a little away from the tree and the land. It stood on what could have been a floor. Maybe at one time, there had been a house that stood here. Rain began to fall and Wilson didn’t linger. There were more things to find.

He couldn’t find any though. It was the same problem he’d run in before. The radio seemed sure there was nothing else to find and wherever he went he always ended up a steep bank leading into deep churning waters.  
That evening, sitting at the fire, Chester snoring against his leg, Wilson knew that he had to be on an island. He’d also spotted a mouth in the ground, just before it got dark, and he knew that it was connected in some way to him being here and also how he’d get off the island.  
He walked back to it in the morning. It grinned up at him from a distance. When he got close it opened up wide, gaping at him with shiny teeth. ‘Holy shit!’ Wilson fell back, shaking with rage and revulsion, his heart beating fast. He tried again but just reeled back in horror as it seemed to move for him. ‘Get away from me with your bullshit, you sick bastard piece of ground!’ He started pacing, walking fast, shaking his head at that leering mouth-hole. He pressed his hands to his eyes, breathing deep. ‘Calm down.’ Maybe if he walked up to it with his eyes closed he could- ‘God no!’  
Wilson huddled up into a little ball. Chester licked his hand and he petted him miserably. ‘We’re going on a little trip, Chessy my man.’ It’s not going to be nice at all but we have to. If we make it to my house I’m gonna give you a bath in the sink, and then you get to run around the house until you’re all dry again.’ He smiled at that, it was a pleasant image, then he picked up his dog, and jumped into the hungry abyss.

It was worse. Wilson puked up slime onto a white forest floor. He tried to get up but his hands stuck to that white, sticky surface. Something landed on his back, something round and dark that ran across his belly and back on top of him. He swiped at it, standing up but stumbling back down, getting more webbing stuck to him. All around him white mounds rose up underneath the dark trees, connected by heavy white threads. Wilson tripped into them as he walked, agonizingly slow as he kept getting stuck and even more tangled up. The stupid mouth hole had spat him out right into a spider nest. He heard Chester whine and made towards him.  
Four or five spiders were wrapping his dog and he punched the first one off. The one on his back kept spinning its thread around him, it was so fast! A spider dropped onto his shoulder and bit into it.  
Wilson wrenched if off but it didn’t feel right. He fell onto his hands and knees, dizzy and heavy, and they kept spooling their threads around him.  
‘Chester! C’mere boy.’ He pulled at what now looked like the middle of a snowman, Chester was in there. More spiders landed onto his back. One bit into his ankle, his hand. He rolled over to squish them, but they just skittered out of the way and came back.  
Something moved, it looked like one of the mounds itself, but it was one ginormous spider. Wilson let out a high-pitched scream until a spider wrapped his head in silk and closed it off. He writhed, struggling to free himself, but they’d wrapped him too tight. The beast leaned over him, frying his sanity away by existing near him with her hairy body and many eyes. She lifted him up and stuck him to one of the mounds at her eye level. Chester got stuck next to him, then she leaned in close and bit into his neck. Wilson squirmed and twisted as her sharp teeth went into him, screaming against the gag. But she didn’t kill him, trailing blood as she leaned back to look at him. Wilson saw her lower body convulse and she laid a shiny egg onto the end of a thin spidery leg, then convulsed again. Whatever she was going to do, keep him half-alive as a snack or fill him up with eggs, or both, Wilson was not going to be here for that. He closed his eyes and reached into his inventory, finding a torch. Then he set the mound he was attached to on fire. It hurt spectacularly.  
But it didn’t hurt him alone. The spider queen burned, sizzling in the cleansing blaze and emitting some high pitched screams of her own. The forest burned, all the spiders burned and Wilson burned with them gladly. He tore Chester free of webbing, his teeth gritted together. ‘Yes that’s right,’ he said,’ stomping on the fleeing spiders, ‘let it all go up in flames!’

His heartbeat pitifully, sending out red flashes of pain across his scorched skin. One hit would be enough to end him, Wilson knew, his eyes didn’t see properly and he suspected that parts of his clothes were fused to his body. But it was a spider-free afternoon and he was still walking.  
Chester barked at him, standing by a berry bush he’d found. Wilson picked and ate, it did a little but not all that much. He was feeling strangely calm. Disconnected, just, used to it? He followed the signal and got to the walls with the gnome. There was the box thing, which he gave to Chester to hold. Nothing special waiting for him, no honey poultice or healing salve. This was real. Maxwell was not going to help him. He could die and go back to his base, but if he wanted to win at this game, he’d have to win it on his own. It comforted him in a way, it made it seem like there was actually something to win.  
He took a deep breath that hurt to take and kept going.  
The day was spent foraging for food and Wilson sat out a night at the fire to recuperate. Then it was on to the next wormhole. He went in without a fuss and it chewed on him and spat him out.

The revulsion from being eaten did not go away and he couldn’t shake the sanity loss it brought with it. Wilson kept seeing Them, the weird shadow creatures, lurking at the edge of his vision. He nearly walked into a beefalo and had to fight three spiders when he stepped on the webbed edge of their territory.  
Wilson stabbed the last of the spiders and picked up the thing it had dropped. A meaty, wobbly, pink thing. He put it into his mouth and instantly felt better. ‘I can heal myself, I don’t need Maxwell.’ The name rang out loud in his addled mind, he saw him, standing at the edge of the field and a wave of relief washed over him. But in the same moment, the shape changed into a larger shadow, a rounded shape that floated like a predatory sponge. Wilson had to look away from it as it looked at him. They were all looking at him, the shadows he could see. He picked flowers and replaced his crown with a fresh one, and this made them fade a little, but they didn’t leave. Wilson located the ring Thing where he’d expected it, right in the middle of a sanity draining circle of evil flowers. He tried to go in but his body wanted nothing to do with it, drenching him in sweat and turning him away.  
‘You want it,’ he said, holding up the eye stick and wagging it. ‘Go get it.’ Chester bounded into the circle and he stumbled after it, cringing as the evil foliage tore at his mind. He gripped Chester, burying his face into the thick fur, and stuffing the ring Thing inside his handy storage. Then he held up the eye stick again, nausea making his voice crack. ‘G-go get it boy.’ He followed Chester back out.

Maxwell nodded and there was a kindness in his eyes. ‘That’s so smart, you really know how to motivate yourself.’ He had the urge to pat Wilson on the back but just punched his own hand absentmindedly, gripping his fist and looking at the screen. Wilson made it to the next hole and it spat him out onto the festering mess that was the bigger swamp.

Wilson staggered, his cheek pressed to the radio rod. His sanity was dropping and the mosquitoes were on him. How long had he been doing this? This swamp was huge and dangerous. Days, weeks, it felt like years taken from his life. He didn’t even smell the stink of it anymore, had it become a part of him? ‘Come one Chessy, almost there.’ He stopped in time before a tentacle got to him, forced himself to get away from the mosquitoes and build a fire. He shivered in front of the flames, the fire warped to blood red and sparked at him, but he roasted his berries and breathed, and slowly the flower crown gave him back some feeling of normality.  
His hands were gripping Chester’s fur, his knuckles white with tension. He let go, massaging some feeling back into them. He held up his hands to his face. ‘You need to cry?’  
He shook his head at his own question.  
‘Then let’s go.’  
The pig house loomed darkly on the horizon at sunset. Wilson had already located the next mouth-hole a few nights before. He would run up, grab the last Thing, then head for the hole and hope it swallowed him back to where he’d first started. He snuck up unseen, the horrible creature must already be inside for the night. He grinned bitterly, he knew their habits, after all.  
Wilson grabbed the crank Thing and was already walking when the light of the house blinked on, lighting up the pig that had been standing in the shadows. It stared at him and he jumped back, dropping the Thing in favor of holding a spear. The pig said something, gesturing wildly, but Wilson couldn’t hear it over the rush of cold dread beating in his ears. He ran.

A tentacle got him, tearing deep crimson stripes of pain across his back. Stupid. Weak. Wilson lay on his side in the mud while he bled. The scent was attracting the mosquitoes, he could hear their high-pitched buzzing coming for him. Chester pressed into his hands against his stomach, whimpering for him to get up.  
Footsteps forced him to stand, leaning on the spear. Chester growled at the shape in the dark. Just as darkness fell, Wilson held up his torch. The pig had followed him. Wilson could not bring himself to drop the torch and kill them both in the shadows. So, he held it up, standing very still, no thoughts or feelings, just a statue that lit up a tiny spot in the earth-dark swamp.  
The pig dropped something in front of him. It wanted to leave, but the darkness stopped it, making it cringe and curl up at the edge of the light. Wilson remained a statue, and when the dawn came the pig ran off. He picked up what it had dropped, it was the crank Thing he’d wanted. ‘I don’t have any idea why it did that, and I’m not going to think about it further.’  
He walked back to the mouth and jumped in.

Wilson sat up in a warzone, this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. This was a flower field, and the air darkened with a moving cloud of noise, a swarm of angry bees heading for him and Chester. Her ran covering his head but they got him with their stingers, and they took no mercy on Chester either! Wilson’s nostrils flared out. The mosquitoes might drink his blood, but it was painless. These sacks of dung stung like they’d shot him with a small, but noteworthy caliber. He never thought the day would come he’d curse the bees, but it had arrived.

Maxwell leaned back in his chair with his eyebrows raised. That was quite the colorful language for a mild-mannered scientist. He frowned at some of the words he didn’t know, or in that context. Illuminating, what a creative mind could come up with, driven to extremes by a swarm of killer bees.

Wilson managed to circle back and set some of the hives on fire. A stupid idea but one he couldn't keep himself from committing to. Now he had to flee the bees AND the flames, but hearing them burn and see the honey cook and explode was worth it, even though the flames were licking his heels all the way, he wanted them to regret having ever met him. He got burns, both from fire and boiling honey splatter, and too many stings to count, but he managed to find the next mouth and he made the ground eat him up.

This time he was right back where he started and the fiend creature that lived in the swamp seemed to have waited for him. Wilson fought the gurgling beast back to its hut but it was strong and would not go down.  
‘I can’t die now!,’ he screamed at it, ‘I’ve come too far!’  
Wilson, blood-drenched, singed and stung, smiled as the idea came to him. He retreated, luring the beast back to where he knew a tentacle lay in wait. He skipped over the spot, making the monster follow him through the warning rumble below. The ground bubbled and out popped the tentacle, cleaving the dumb beast across the face. And it just took it, Wilson gaped at the strength of it as it fought back, wrangling the tentacle, enduring another swipe and another, then it gurgled and went down. But it had taken the tentacle with it. Wilson picked up the tentacle spear that had dropped after the battle, a cruel barbed stick full of pain. ‘Nice.’ He ate a fish and some frog legs that had also dropped there, chewing them down raw. Then he limped back to the wooden circle, shoving the skeleton to the side.  
‘M- made it.’ He collapsed, only blinking awake when Chester wouldn’t stop licking his face. ‘Sorry, got a little tired there.’ Then he built the machine, and had to see Maxwell grin down at him. The hands took hold of him, squeezing his injuries and making him cry out in pain. He chose Chester’s stick, hoping it would bring his friend along to where he had to go next, his mind got stuck on what else to take as the blood got squeezed to his head. He flung them in, hoping for the best, and they dragged him down into darkness.

Wilson opened his eyes and pinched them shut again. A bright light shone into his eyes and he couldn’t move.  
‘Here, let me get that for you.’  
The glare was moved away from his face but he still couldn’t get up. Wilson noticed his hands were fastened to the metal railing of a hospital bed, his chest strapped down to a clean white mattress. For a moment he was relieved, then he saw Maxwell standing over him, and deflated.  
A wry smile crept up Maxwell’s face, he seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘Sorry Wilson, this is just my little clinic. You’re not insane. Well, not anymore.’  
Maxwell wore a white coat for the occasion, along with surgical gloves. He picked up some pliers and tore a stinger from Wilson’s arm, making him flinch.  
Maxwell put the pliers back down. ‘Oh, you felt that. That’s not good.’ He picked up a syringe from the tray. Wilson struggled to get loose but the inside of his arm was tapped and the needle pushed in. He sunk back down as the dark liquid went into his vein, his head heavy and filled with fuzz. Maxwell kissed his gloved fingertips, touching them briefly to the needle wound, then he put a band-aid over it.  
Wilson struggled to speak, the sound of stingers being taken out and dropped in a bowl filled the otherwise dark room. ‘Familiar.’  
‘That’s right, you’ll remember soon enough. Try not to move, I’m going to stitch you up.’  
Wilson craned his neck to see but couldn’t. He didn’t feel any pain, just a slight tugging at his lower leg. He was wearing a hospital gown, what was left of his clothes lay neatly stacked in a burned, blood-smeared pile. He frowned. ‘Why?’  
‘You need to be fresh and right in the head to begin your next challenge.’  
Wilson frowned. ‘Thought I won.’  
Maxwell chuckled. ‘You’ve won this round. There’s four more to go, then you meet me.’  
‘And we f- fight.’  
Maxwell placed a hand on his knee and squeezed it. ‘That’s right.’  
Wilson’s eyes rolled back and he blinked furiously to keep them open. ‘Did I do a good job?’ A tear ran down the side of his face. Maxwell swabbed it up with a cotton pad, he patted Wilson on the head watching the tired eyes fall shut. ‘A very good job.’ He opened his mouth to speak, but shook his head and went back to work.

Wilson sat up feeling better. Then he remembered, and a deep blush crept up his face. He buried his head into his knees while he saw bath time, how Maxwell had cared for him, sedated him, always so close, his pretty compliments and reassuring, touching hands. His dark visitor had given him exactly what he wanted, attention, belief. And he’d made that machine for him like an eager-to-please child, the machine that had taken him away from his home and dropped him here into this hell world.  
Wilson knew Maxwell was standing behind him, he could smell his cigar, but he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes.  
‘You really got your hooks in me,’ he said, a deep ache blossoming up in his chest. ‘But I made it this far, you can’t hide forever. If you’re not lying.’  
‘I always said you were capable.’  
Wilson gripped his hands to his chest. ‘Just go, I need a minute.’ In the distance, there was the baying of the hounds. Wilson got up despite himself, and he fell to his knees with a sigh of relief, arms outstretched to take Chester into a hug. When he finally looked Maxwell was gone.


	8. Hide and go seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit late but here we are, a new chapter fresh out of the oven! Done with extra care just for you! Things get a little more wriggly in this one. I don't know what that means I'm super tired. 
> 
> Special mention goes out to Adam_Maitland because they're a good egg. Have a great week people!

The forest burned, sizzling in the rain and painting the sky red. The fire lined every tree in gold and cast long shadows across the fields, it kept the night away, but the blackening soot didn’t allow any daylight either. Wilson tasted ashes whenever he swallowed, coughing frequently. But as long as he stayed ahead of the blaze it would be okay.   
He held Chester in his arms, not remembering a time not spent fleeing from the hounds. There were many here, too many to fight. Since he’d woken up to their baying, it formed a constant chorus. But he was fast and he had his dog.   
Wilson gave Chester an extra squeeze, earning him a lick to the underside of his jaw. He smiled. It was going well; two Things down, two more to find.  
So far the radio was picking up a weak signal, but he was getting closer. Keeping his energy up was vital. He made sure to eat and kept an eye out for any meat lying around. The fire was useful for that. Many of the hounds had found their end by not being quicker than the flames.   
There were also spiders here, but they kept their distance. They mostly stuck, Wilson chuckled at the wording, to their webbed trees. Somehow they seemed unhurt by the heat where they were hiding. Maybe there was enough distance between them and the rest of the world.   
‘Let’s keep in that way,’ he said, glaring at a pair of glowing eyes not far from the road. The eyes stared at him, receded into the shadows until they were gone. 

He put Chester down to get a read on their position, trying to guess if he’d been this way before. The radio blared at a frantic pitch. Was it lost? Wilson huffed impatiently, looking around the clearing. Why couldn’t he see anything, the smoke wasn’t that thick here yet.   
He held up his torch and jumped back with a gasp. What he’d mistaken for a tree was a thick shadow, a solid streak of dark, suspended on the air. The shadow moved, gliding away to join a gathering of tendrils at the edge of the trees. Wilson puffed out his cheeks, giving the darkness a wide berth. As he did so, the radio lost the signal. He knew he had to follow the static now, waving the radio around until he could pick up the shouting he couldn’t understand. 

Maxwell leaned in on the screen with a frown. He could see Wilson one moment then the little guy would fade away and the screen would go almost dark. He sighed, ready to send a piece of himself into the world. Whatever was happening, Wilson would only get into trouble if he didn’t. Then he heard the sound, It sent goosebumps up his arms. Maxwell sat very still, no emotion showing on his face but the vein on his temple betrayed a suddenly fast-beating heart. He shifted, unable to sit still any longer. Maybe he’d imagined it. It had not shown itself for years, decades! He listened intently, an empty feeling settling in his stomach. There! The sound of twanging steel threads pulled too tight, coiling and uncoiling in the dark. It was coming closer. Maxwell felt his leg muscles tighten as if they could simply run away from this. He closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. The smell wafted up to him; oils, the blood taste of rusted metals. He gagged but kept his composure otherwise.   
‘I know you’re standing right behind me,’ he said.   
The throne reacted to the presence, the shadow tendrils gripped him tight, securing his hands and legs until they shook with the strain. Sitting unnaturally still, Maxwell waited it out.   
I have unlimited patience, he told himself, more than Them, easily. 

Finally, it slunk out into view, a tall shadow in the shape of a man. Maxwell despised it, from the messy tangle of hair sticking out at all angles, to the way it always tilted slightly to the side while it watched. Its glowing, pin-prick eyes fastened on him, and his head started to ache from the intensity of that gaze.   
Maxwell maintained eye-contact, his mouth twitching by the effort it took.   
What had called out to it? Why the sudden interest?   
Around them, the other shadows had slunk away, but now that the watcher had settled its focus, they surged back to join in, all their eyes focused on Maxwell. His jaw tightened. He glanced at the screen, catching a glimpse of Wilson holding up his torch.   
The watcher leaned in suddenly, its face inches away. Maxwell swallowed a scream. He softened his gaze but kept it on that intense stare, and he imagined Wilson walking up from behind the throne; holding up his torch and banishing the creature.   
The watcher righted itself again. Maxwell let out a shaking breath and went back to staring it down. 

Wilson followed the voices. He had to alternate between holding the torch and the radio. The shadows hanging around would close in on him if he let go of the torch too long. They built up at the edges like waves, receding away from the light and building up again.   
He was in the right place; the trees looked sickly, starved like the barren fields enclosed by the crumbling wall. It was a sizable plot of land, but nothing grew underneath the overcast sky.   
A spider crawled out towards him. Wilson was more surprised than scared. He raised his spear and it just... sat there, hissing at him as if in a challenge. He stabbed it and it sat there until it was dead. Wilson scratched the back of his neck. ‘Alright, that’s something new.’ He saw another spider on the way, a bigger one with yellow and black stripes, perched on one of the dead trees. It just watched him walk by and then crawled out of sight.  
‘Chester?’ Wilson whistled for him, not that it was necessary, Chester never strayed, always bouncing along beside him. He petted him between the horns, taking comfort in the soft fur. ‘Best dog award,’ he said, his face softening, ‘that’s what you deserve.’ Chester jumped up and down on the spot, his little paws thumping the earth.   
Wilson held up the radio again, almost dropping it when an old man’s voice yelled at him clearly; ‘Idiot, fool! You’ve no brain in yer head!’  
Wilson glared at the box. ‘Rude. Do you want another kick? I’ll kick you, no problem.’   
‘You’re the one that’s brainless!’ another voice shouted.   
Wilson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Maxwell?’ No way. It sounded too upset to be Maxwell and too young.  
The sound from a slap echoed across the field, Wilson swore he saw an outline fall into the dirt beside him. This place was haunted. Wilson was a man of science, but he’d always believed in ghosts. His shoulders tensed up and he gripped the radio tight, listening fervently.   
‘Strike me down all you like,’ the younger voice spat, ‘I won’t stay here with you! I’m going to-’  
The old voice interrupted with cold laughter. ‘You’ll never make it! You’ll come crawling back home, begging me to forgive you! You’re weak, you’re nothing but a lazy dreamer!’   
‘You killed her,’ the younger voice said through gritted teeth, they spoke softly, building up to a fierce hatred. ‘Your useless pride let her get sick and you let her die! You’ll have me starve on this wretched wasteland to not admit you’re a failure. I won’t die here with you, you die here alone! It’s what you deserve!’ The voice cracked, but it went on with unmasked rage. ‘I’ll celebrate when you die! I’ll dance at your funeral!’   
A gate slammed shut and Wilson stood there trembling, while the sound of an old man’s crying drifted away in the wind.   
He jumped as the radio blared at him, kicking it away and rubbing the sweat from his face. Only then did he notice the Thing he needed, lying on the ground at his feet. 

Wilson had felt something when that old man had shouted. Pity? Had it been Maxwell and his father? Maybe it was just embarrassment at hearing people argue like that. He knew he had parents, it was how people were made, after all. He’d forgotten about them completely, however, maybe the place would give them back to him eventually? Like the house, and Maxwell’s attention to him. Wilson sensed someone looked at him and he spun around. He’d have screamed if his breath hadn’t died in his throat, the image was that blatantly horrific. Two people stood on the field behind him, a man and a woman, both well dressed and both were missing their faces. Wilson just stood there, blinking hard. The man stuck out his arm, holding out a letter to him.   
Wilson took a step back, shaking his head. ‘No, thank you.’ He really didn’t want to read it, didn’t want to get close to these faceless people. They faded away but somehow managed to make him feel alone as they went. In his mind, something let go and the content of that letter fell back into his mind. Oh.   
Wilson sighed, his arms going limp and he had to sit down in the dirt for a moment. Chester nudged his elbow, letting out a sound. ‘Hey Chester,’ he said, a strain in his voice. ‘Let’s keep going. Only one more thing to find.’   
He held himself as he walked, was it getting colder again? The smell of roses drifted over from the now ever-present shadows, he heard the sound of breaking glass, of crying.   
Wilson cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Charlie!’ 

There was a farm in the distance, an old building falling apart like everything else here. He kept calling her name until she stumbled out of the darkness. It was Charlie. She tore at her hair, screaming into her hands and punching the stone wall that lined the property. She yammered and crumpled down, holding her hand to her lips, cradling herself.  
Wilson walked up slowly, his voice soft so as not to startle her. ‘Charlie?’  
Her head jerked up at him, the complete darkness from her eyes glared at him from her flustered face. She hid her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. ‘Don’t, I don’t want you to see me like this.’  
‘What happened?’   
She shook her head.   
‘Here,’ he held a bandaid out to her until she took it. It was getting dark, but the fires in the distance still gave enough light to keep them safe. For now. Wilson sat down next to her.   
Charlie cried silently, eventually bandaging herself and falling silent. Her legs stretched out long, she leaned her head back, tears running freely, her voice pinched by emotion ‘He’s so sure of himself,’ she wiped at her nose, ‘and I try to argue but then he just smirks while I talk-’ she clenched her fists. ‘I always sound like such an idiot! And he’s so composed, talking down to me like I’m just some fussy child!’ She covered her eyes, smiling without humor. ‘I threw things at him, I wanted him to feel the hurt too, for once!’ She laughed through gritted teeth, shaking her head. ‘That’s so ugly. I’m turning ugly. I’m never happy anymore, not when I’m not drinking.’ She swallowed with difficulty. ‘I’m scared.’  
Wilson placed his hand on her shoulder and after a pause, she leaned her head against his. ‘Just one last show,’ she said, her eyes closed, her body going soft. ‘I think he’s earned that from me. He worked so hard, worked himself to the top all the way up from nothing. I don’t want to ruin it for him now. But he doesn’t need me, and I can’t be with him anymore, it hurts too much.’   
They sat there in the gloom. Fireflies dancing between the shadows and trees around them. Wilson straightened up, glancing sideways at her. ‘What if we just run away?’  
Charlie frowned at him, then smirked when she read his face. ‘That would be something.’ She sat up too, holding up her hands, picturing a headlined between them. “Widower and magician’s assistant, run away together!” She giggled. “Widower and former magician’s assistant, go on a daring adventure!”  
Wilson smiled, his hand resting on his cheek. ‘It would be nice to have something quiet, after all the adventures we’ll have.’  
‘Oh I got us there,’ she said. “Widower and ex-assistant to Magician, find peace and quiet on… on a boat!”   
Wilson laughed. ‘I’ve never been on a boat, I don’t think I can sail. I think.’   
She waved her hand at that minor problem. ‘We’ll figure it out along the way. And we’ll have guests, and we’ll serve them all their drinks out of coconuts. In fact, we’ll only drink coconut milk, and we’ll eat coconut cakes.’  
‘Then we already have a name for our boat,’ Wilson snapped his fingers. ‘The coconut! I can learn to play an instrument, for entertainment and fun.’  
Charlie smiled, moving her hands while she spoke, some light coming back to her eyes. ‘And I’ll announce your act to our guests. No, I’ll be the entertainment too. I can sing.’  
‘You can?’  
She got to her feet, dusting off her dress, and sang out clearly; ‘Wilson and Charlie, on their coconut, happily sailing, and they worry not.’ Wilson beamed at her and clapped, she blushed and hid her face, bowing as if for a larger audience. 

She helped him up and held his hands, her face suddenly sad. ‘You know, I like you a lot. I wish I knew you before. We’d have been good friends.’ Her eyes were bleeding shadows and her shape was drifting away into the darkness drawing near.   
Wilson hugged her. ‘I like you too.’   
Charlie staggered. She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s been such a nightmare, these last few days. It’s like I know something bad is going to happen and I can’t stop it. I feel like I’m trapped, that no matter where I run I’m always in the same place.’ She clasped her throat, her eyes wide. ‘Like... the horrible thing will happen, again and again, forever.’   
Wilson almost stumbled into her, something unseen had pushed him. He held up his torch, but it didn’t light up the shapes and swirls of endless night pressing in.   
‘Charlie?’  
‘There is someone following me, Wilson.’ Her lip quivered. ‘Someone that wants to hurt me.’ She spun around, eyes blinded by the shadows. ‘Wilson!?’  
He grabbed her arm but his hands went through her. She moaned in fear. ‘Wilson!’   
‘Charlie!’   
‘God!’ She recoiled at something he couldn’t see, falling over herself to get away. The darkness descended completely, plunging the world in a terrible abyss. Wilson held up the torch high, beside him Chester whined. ‘Charlie!’   
She screamed with such pain he thought she’d died, but then she screamed again, so long and hard and terrified it made his chest ache with it. He screamed with her, tears in his eyes, calling her name into the void, and he couldn’t reach her. 

Maxwell blinked and a tear ran across his cheek. He didn’t notice. To him the screen was dark and the room was focused on him alone. He was using up all his poise and reserve to just appear unconcerned. He would not yield to Them, to their numerous stares from unblinking eyes.   
The chair groaned under the strain from chaining him down, his hands curled up from the pain. But he sat on his throne and that was all they would get from him.   
His eyes blurred for a second. It had been like this in the early days before he’d learned how to build a world and entertain them in different ways. His mere existence had fascinated them, curious, and even revered him. Now they just looked hungry.   
Had the room always been this cold? Maxwell took a shallow breath. How had he not lost his mind back then, fresh torn from his life and cast down here? Maybe he had, or maybe it was because he’d been younger then. Now the strain was weighing him down quickly. He glanced at the screen, Wilson was running through the night, looking upset. The watcher leaned in, the terrible gaze pulling at him. Maxwell stared right back. You won’t make a meal of me yet. 

Wilson killed the spider and the next one after that. He ate his berries and held up the radio, he did what he had to do. He kicked a stone and cussed. ‘Useless!’ Why couldn’t he save her? Just… have her stay in the now, away from the night. Would they keep meeting like this, with moments that lightened the mood but made the dark that came after all the more terrible? He’d have to do better than that. Maybe try and help remind her of what had happened to her. How she’d gotten here.   
‘There’s a different world than this one, Charlie. People miss us, they have to miss you, at least.’ Didn’t she have a sister? He was sure she’d mentioned something.  
The next spider acted differently. I looked… frightened. But still, it sat on the road in front of him and hissed. Wilson wasn’t in the mood, he tried to go round, but it got back in his way. It made him frown, interested despite himself. The creature seemed to be in a constant fight with itself, torn between running and wanting to fight. Then it bit him on the leg, curing his curiosity. He stabbed it, breaking his spear on the final lunge as it died. He crafted himself a new one. ‘Stupid spiders, make up your mind.’ 

The pig house didn’t look like it used to, either, completely covered in sticky webbing. The door hung ajar, and there was no Thing to be found near it. He went around, holding up the radio. The signal was there, but it sounded faint again.   
‘Chester?’  
Chester bounced up from behind the little house. ‘Stay close now,’ he said, pointing his finger to the ground. He knelt, opening his trusty companion to store the eye stick inside. ‘Stay. I’ll be right back.’ Chester barked at him.   
‘No, you wait here.’ He squinted at the trees, all packed up in the snug white webbing. ‘I don’t trust this.’   
Wilson crafted another spear just to be safe, wishing for something stronger. He had his torches, he had food. What was the problem?   
The problem was that there were no spiders. All these webs, hanging overhead, covering most of the ground and all the trees, and not a single arachnid in sight. They’d been acting more secretive since he’d arrived. His main focus had been the hounds, more aggressive and relentless as they were, they seemed the bigger danger. Some of them even exploded or froze him to the ground when they died. But the spiders were different too.   
Wilson walked deeper into the forest, it felt like winter here, with all the whiteness and glistening threads. Maybe they just didn’t notice him, as long as he kept off their webs. And they hunted at night, a thing he’d banished along with the day. He stopped and noticed what else had changed. He couldn’t hear the hounds anymore. But the radio kept up a constant signal, he had to be almost there. Then he saw the shape of a hound.   
Spear up, Wilson stood ready to strike. But the hound wasn’t moving. Wilson stared at it, it was one of the winter hounds, with blue and white fur. Was it sleeping?   
‘Let sleeping hounds lie,’ he whispered, going around and avoiding the ground where it was threaded.   
The second hound was hovering in the air. It took Wilson a couple of frantic heartbeats to understand. They had not suddenly acquired flight, a gruesome thought, this one was just suspended by threads. And it too seemed to be sleeping. Wilson tried to make something of it but nothing would add up.   
One more turn, then I’m going back. The Thing was agonizingly close!   
No. Something wasn’t right. Wilson turned back. But when he held up the radio a while later, the signal hadn’t faded. In fact, it was closer than ever. This had to be proof that something was amiss. He’d been an idiot to even go this far. Wilson kept up a nonchalant appearance but walked with a little more urgency. He was a busy man, sometimes he had to go faster. Wilson ran. He hadn’t gone that deep into the forest, any moment now he’d be back out and he’d be burning it down. To do so now would be instant suicide, and he’d come too far to allow himself to die. 

He had to eat something. It couldn’t have been this far. Wilson chewed his cold-cuts with a sense of dread settling into his stomach. The treeline had been right behind him, he swore it couldn’t have been more than a few meters. Unless. Wilson selected his spear, his pulse quickening as he pressed it into the nearest trunk. It pushed right through to the other side, where it stuck. He left it, walking away, his mind racing. What did this mean? Were unseen spiders weaving a forest around him? Had they somehow managed to turn him around on himself? He held up the radio, the signal was the same.   
They have the Thing. They’re carrying it around and I’m following them like a dunce! Wilson had to smile at this. Really? The spiders were doing this? They were not the smartest, maybe even the least intelligent species he’d come across. And somehow they were coordinating this… elaborate scheme. He chuckled. It had to be something else. But he could figure that out later when he was outside of their domain.   
He picked a direction and kept walking. He’d find his way out like this, the forest had to end somewhere, even if it was made entirely out of spider silk. A straight line would see him through. Something dropped down from a branch above, hanging by a thread. A familiar square shape, wrapped in silk.   
‘Chester!’   
The package was pulled away, swung farther to the left. ‘Wilson gritted his teeth. ‘Drop him now!’ He held up his torch, his voice steady and loud. ‘I’ll send us all to hell!’ The torch was pulled away by an unseen hand. Wilson gaped after it, watching it spin in a circle in front of him, hanging by a thread. He took out his spear, slashing the air at any unseen silks.   
Something landed behind him with a thud, one of the yellow-and-black spiders. It lunged at him. Wilson fought it off, lancing it on his spear and punting it into the trees. Where it stuck. So spiders could stick to their webbing. He’d always wanted to know.   
‘Slip up and die!’ he yelled at it, both to his enemy and himself. A wave of them dropped down around him, he stabbed and stabbed until his spear broke. It was eerie. Exactly as his spear broke all of them were dead. Exactly.   
Wilson pressed a hand to his mouth. Chester. Where was his good boy? His good boy holding all the Things for his dad as a good boy did. He saw the good boy shape, dangled in the soft white-light that fell between the threads. Wilson swallowed, feeling his chest tighten, making it difficult to breathe freely. He took a step closer and the package didn’t move. He took another step until he was almost there, then it was pulled away, just a bit beyond his reach.   
Wilson groaned, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. I’m being toyed with. Something wants to do me harm. To mess with me.   
He stopped himself from taking out his spear, did they know how many he had left? Did they count along with all the materials he picked up? Did they count his torches? He looked back at the spider corpses, the exact number it took to break a spear on. Another thing occurred to him. They hadn’t rushed him. In the heat of the moment, it might have felt like it, but if they’d all come for him at once, he wouldn't have survived. Wilson clasped his hands to stop them from trembling. 

He walked up to Chester and kept walking as he was lured further in. He had to count on himself to think of something, to fight whatever was coming, or to die trying. Even though that last thought was not a real option in his mind. He passed more hounds, all of them made immobile and in various stages of being wrapped up. The further he went, the more they disappeared behind the silks that suspended them until he could only guess at the shapes inside.   
Something caught his eye, something lying on the ground like a stone. Wilson stopped and held his stomach, trying to quell the wave of nausea. It was another failed survivor, or what was left of them, that wasn’t it. Wilson rubbed his eyes. Skulls were never supposed to be that small. ‘It can’t be.’ But it was the reality of this world. What could he do? The tragedy had already occurred. The tiny skull of a child bore witness to something so horrible it was hard to believe. Wilson stiffened, then he took a deep breath, the first full breath in this gauzed maze of silence, and he went to work. 

Maxwell couldn’t look away, Wilson was burying the remains of a child. Something deep inside him stirred at the memory of how it got there, his eyes widened at the realization. The watcher was next to his face and pressed through, it seeping into his mind and sucked the memory out. It rose back up, leaving Maxwell gasping, writing against the restraints. It too was patient.

Wilson stepped back looking at the small grave, his hands clenched and unclenched. He felt there was more to do, something, anything, but he couldn’t define what it was. He sighed. Make it undone? He bent his head, standing in silence for a while. A lightning bolt hit the earth, sending him flying back. When Wilson got up he wobbled on, nothing had changed, after all. 

As he walked up a hill after the Chester parcel, a great white mound rose before him between the trees. It dwarfed everything by standing there. He could see spiders move over it, tiny black specks against the white, with the occasional yellow one thrown in. A palace? The thought of what could be waiting inside made his knees weak. ‘I decided to come here, it’s my decision.’   
There was an entrance, it was pretty small actually, a normal door almost. Maybe the spiders wanted to talk, negotiate? Wilson made a swipe for Chester but his friend was dragged inside through the dark entrance. Whatever pulled it away from him, wanted him to come in.  
Fine. We’ll see if this is a bad idea.   
It was a bad idea. Wilson realized this the moment the door closed behind him. He had a moment to see the thousands of shapes suspended from the tall ceiling, wrapped up bundles of varied shapes and sizes, then he saw her and it sent him reeling back. His jaw dropped as his body froze in fear. A spider queen hugged the ceiling above, casting a giant’s shadow down over the bone-riddled floor. If the spider he’d met before was a queen, this was an empress. She let herself down, landing with barely a sound, then lashed out at him.   
Wilson sailed through the air and skidded through what could have once been a hound mound. He lay there dazed, a ringing in his ears that made the world spin and taste of blood and bile. 

The impact had broken something, the snap still fresh in his mind. He got up unsteadily, supporting himself on his spear. The weapon seemed like a toy, held up to the beast.   
She threw something at him, an unseen thread that caught his arm and pulled him to his knees. Wilson shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his throat. This was comically unfair. He cut the threads with his spear, rolling away. She simply cast another line, catching his spear and throwing it against the far wall. Then she caught his leg, pulling it out from under him. He tried setting the wall on fire, making a desperate break for it. She yanked him back and stripped him of his torch, an expert fisherman with no hurry in any of her movements. This went on until he couldn’t get up anymore until he grabbed inside his inventory and found nothing. Wilson strained to break free one last time, but she pulled him close and kept spinning him, packaging him up with her threads.   
Wilson watched her swollen abdomen fly by overhead, then the floor, then her body again. She carried him away, suspended by a thread, and hung him upside down next to her other victims.   
There was a line. A grim row of hanging cocoons. Had she waited for him to finally arrive? And now that she had him right where she wanted, would she carry on? Wilson tried not to look at what she did, but as she came closer, he could hear the sounds. God the sounds. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut but he couldn’t close off the squelching. It set his teeth on edge. What was worse he could smell pig. He could hear one too. Wilson opened his eyes and saw a pig, hanging next to him with a big grin. He screamed. 

Maxwell couldn’t look, but there was definitely something interesting going on. All the shadows were focused on the screen and making a racket. But not interesting enough to distract the watcher, and he could not afford to break eye contact with it again. 

‘YoU!’ Wilson seethed with rage. For a moment it seemed his revulsion would set him free, but the wrappings were too tough and he had to angrily hang there next to the creature. It was difficult to look angry, while slowly spinning in a circle, and each time he came past the pig, it looked happier to see him. A nasty smile spread across Wilson’s face. ‘At least I’ll get to see you suffer before I do,’ he sneered.   
‘Queen!’ the pig shouted.   
Wilson curled in on himself and outwards like a caterpillar, the only thing he could do. ‘Shut up! Shut your mouth!’   
‘Me love queen!’ another voice squealed. Great. There were more pigs in this house of horrors.   
‘Queen!’ Queen!’ there was a small crowd cheering now.   
‘Don’t you dare,’ Wilson screamed, ‘you filthy animals! I hate every single one of you! The only thing that makes me happy is that you’re all going to die!’   
Were they though? Wilson wasn’t so sure. The queen was doing her thing to one hanging victim, temporarily obscuring them from view but for the sounds, of course, the horrible sounds lingered. Then she moved on, leaving the victim to once again make its own noises.   
She was getting closer, Wilson couldn’t focus on the impending doom he was too angry. These couldn’t all be the same pigs that had used him. They had all died. Or did they come back too? Somehow he doubted this. Pigs just weren’t important enough.   
The spider was very near. Wilson curled and uncurled again, a noodle of rage on a string. If these weren’t the same pigs, then why did they call him “Queen?” Wilson shuddered at their voices, cheering for him from all around, then the real queen was here. She took the pig hanging next to him and started to lay her eggs down its throat. The pig wasn’t bothered in the slighted, happily crunching away her future progeny, this was just feeding time for them. Wilson just smiled as this part of his fate was revealed. ‘That’s perfect.’   
She was here. Wilson’s stomach lurched in fear as she picked him up between her legs, and then it was too late. Something hollow slid into his mouth and a globular substance ran up his throat, pushed upwards with the rhythm of a steady heartbeat. He convulsed but she held him straight with ease. The pigs were kicking up a fuss, their voices going from elated to angry, he focused on that, while it got tighter around his belly in the cocoon. This world was really out to get him. However horrible it got, time would go by, and he would go home. Wilson hung on to that thought, I’m going home. I’m going home! He was also aware that there was going to be a breaking point really soon, maybe when he had to breathe again? She pulled out and he couldn’t throw up, but he was filled up to bursting. He watched a long thread of saliva dangle down to the floor below. It landed on a skull that grinned up at him. Something did snap. It was the thread holding him up.   
The pigs were breaking free and attacking the spider queen. Wilson lay on his stuffed belly, his face next to the skull he’d inadvertently spat on. He couldn’t feel his body, was he going to feel like throwing up without ever being able to, forever? Or until the spiders burst out. There were spiders here now, swarming in from all directions. Summoned by the queen no doubt, spiders versus pigs. And he couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel his limbs. Where was his home? How was he supposed to get his body back to his bed? He pinched his eyes shut. I need to find my way home. I need my bed. And then he saw.

Silence rang out in the throne room. Maxwell saw the watcher turn to the screen and dared to take a look at it himself. A map. There was a map on the screen! It showed a giant patch of white, next to a burning world. There was even a small picture of Wilson’s, surrounded by an impossible amount of spiders, and a small number of pigs. Maxwell had only seen this in his mind when he built the world, but never as clearly as this. 

Wilson opened his eyes and the vision was gone. But he’d seen it all, everywhere he’d been and it all looked so small from far away. Chester wasn’t here, he was right there where he’d left him by the empty pig house. But the Thing was here. It was all so simple from a long way away. He closed his eyes again and saw the road back to the assembly point, it wasn’t even far. On opening his eyes a pig dragged him to his feet, tearing the webbing from his body. They were still so strong. Had they all just let themselves be captured for a free meal?   
Wilson slapped its paw away. ‘Don’t touch me!’ It picked him up and carried him over the swarm, getting torn down while it did so.   
Its fellows were on the spider queen, punching away but not winning much. The pig threw Wilson the last few meters. He landed next to one of his spears and used it to tear a hole through the wall. He dry-heaves, his movements slugging. But he still needed the Thing. Wilson went back for it, looking at the map to find it, spearing spiders and watching pigs die. He got it from one of the parcels, impaling it and making a run for the hole out into the world. He was so slow, getting stuck on the webbed floor outside, his obscene belly weighing him down. But he knew where he was going, for the first time he knew with certainty. 

By the time he made it out, it was dark. Shaking, Wilson built a fire, sitting down and stroking Chester over and over. He kept checking the map, but the spiders were in their nest, the hounds roaming the burning fields some distance away. Wilson avoided looking down. Just make it through a little longer, it’s only a little bit further. That night he saw a tall shadow stand at the edge of the fire, it watched him with a strange intensity, but he was too numb to take any notice.   
‘Just, get it over with.’ Wilson dragged himself back to where he’d started, a million years ago, and assembled the machine. He passed out from the pain when the hands squeezed him, not taking anything along. 

One of Maxwell’s shadow forms paced up and down the length of a barbed-wire fence. He couldn’t get past this barrier. All he could do was watch as the shadows tried to fix Wilson under a shrill spotlight. Wilson looked worse than dead, lying senseless on a stone slab, while they pulled one egg after the other from his mouth, deflating his belly. A poultice covered his eyes and a blood pack stuck to the inside of his arm. They’d done this before, with a handful of other survivors. But they weren’t any good. ‘Come on. Let me help!’ he slammed the fence, making it shudder, but they pretended not to notice him.  
‘Amateurs,’ he said, glaring at them. Besides, Wilson needed his Chester. He was sure the guy had placed the eye bone into the right spot. Even though it clearly lay on the grass where he’d dropped it. Maxwell went to fetch it. Chester looked up at him and whined.   
‘He didn’t leave you behind, you stupid thing’ Maxwell rolled his eyes. Then he picked up the eye bone Wilson kept calling a stick for some reason. Chester tried to run, but couldn’t get further away from whoever was holding the bone. Maxwell watched it run in place, snorting loudly. ‘I don’t know what he sees in you. You’re no dog, you’re a miscreation.’ He laughed at it until it growled at him.  
Maxwell growled back. ‘You show some respect,’ he wagged the eye bone. ‘I can drop this down into a dark abyss and you’ll never be called a good boy ever again.’  
Chester crawled up to him, whining pathetically. Maxwell looked away, folding his arms. ‘I didn’t mean that I had a hard day. C’mere, I’ll drop you off into the next world he enters.’ He knelt, spreading his arms. It felt terrible.   
Chester stood on the grass. How could an eyeless box-thing look like it was weighing things over?   
‘Are you seriously considering this right now? Come! Here!’   
Chester jumped into his arms and Maxwell struggled awkwardly to hold the creature. It was so very hairy. He pressed his cheek to it, like Wilson was always doing, and almost cried out. Chester was made of soft, soft fur. He stood up quickly and went back with it.   
‘You sit still and wait,’ he said. Giving the eye bone to himself sitting on the throne with closed eyes. Chester seemed fine with that.   
He went back to look at Wilson being patched up. He wanted to see it, needed to see some of the damage become undone. ‘It’s almost over,’ he told himself.  
Wilson had managed to pull the watcher back into the world. It was a truly incredible feat, never mind the appearance of the map. Maybe he’d even underestimated the scientist. He shrugged. ‘For what it’s worth, you are extraordinary.’


	9. Wilson in winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have another chapter, get your blankets and hot-water bottle ready because it's a cold one. No worries, there is some heat in there to warm you up. 
> 
> Next chapter can take a few days longer to post because it's the finale! (Of part one)

A frigid wind shook icicles from the bare branches, they glinted as they dropped into a fresh layer of snow. Wilson adjusted his winter hat, suppressing a shiver. Another quiet day.  
He’d built a modest base, just a fire and cooking area with a chest. He didn’t dare build more, not yet. The black wall behind his base still worried him. A line of straight black spikes that blocked the way across a land bridge. He eventually needed to cross there, but not this day.  
He went for a walk. There wasn’t much else to do. It snowed again.  
Wilson watched his boots disappear and come back up from the whiteness. He’d gotten fresh clothes suited for the frosty weather, and a lot of time to think and walk. It was almost meditative. As long as he kept his food reserves up, there was no need to hurry. He went down a way he hadn’t before. Wilson knew this because it didn’t show up on his mind map yet.  
‘Hey pal,’ a familiar voice said behind him, ‘I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but maybe walk somewhere else?’  
Wilson spun around.  
Maxwell looked snug in his winter coat, the fur poofed up to his ears. Damn, he looks well. Wilson sighed. He had to make an effort to speak. ‘What?’  
Maxwell smiled at him. ‘Just take another route. Don’t continue down those trees.’  
Wilson raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not?’ Now that he’d gotten his jaw to work it felt good to talk.  
‘I don’t want you to,’ Maxwell said.  
Wilson brought his fingertips together, speaking over them. ‘You must realize that when you tell me that, it’s the only thing I want to do today.’  
‘I considered the possibility, that’s why I intend to bargain.’  
Wilson folded his arms. ‘What could you possibly have that I want?’  
Maxwell held up his hand, revealing a bone with an eye on it. Wilson lunged for it, Maxwell stepped to the side, letting the scientist land on his belly in the snow.  
Wilson rolled on his back, staring up at the man. ‘You kidnapped him!’ He shook his head, muttering to himself. ‘Why am I surprised? That’s exactly your thing to do.’  
Maxwell scoffed. ‘You dropped this, I merely picked it up. I am however holding your precious Chester hostage so you do as I say.’  
Wilson got up, brushing the snow from his pants. ‘Can’t you just make me?’  
Maxwell smiled. ‘I’d love to, but that’s not how it works.’  
‘Well, I’m going up there.’  
Maxwell watched the man walk away, his head tilted to the side. That could have gone better. Wilson was playing it quite cool for someone that had spent days and nights calling for his “dog.” He bunched his hands into fists and ran after him. ‘Wilson!’

Wilson smirked, walking slightly faster now that Maxwell was trying to catch up. ‘This wasn’t even on my way,’ he called back. ‘I would have turned around if you hadn’t shown up. Now I’m happy to stretch my legs for longer.’ He stopped, taking a moment to listen for something, and continued.  
Maxwell caught up. His long legs had no difficulty with the snow. ‘I could be playing a trick on you,’ he said.  
Wilson considered it, studying the other man’s face. ‘You look nervous. What don’t you want me to find? Give me a reason and I might consider it.’  
A muscle stood out in Maxwell’s clenched jaw. ‘I’ll give you enough firewood to last through five hundred winters, and rabbits. You’re running out of them, I’m sure. What are you even planning? You’ve set up a little base and now you’re on a winter vacation?’  
Wilson shook his head, walking faster.  
‘Wait!’ Maxwell tried to grab him but Wilson stepped out of his reach. Wilson’s voice trembled, but he met his eyes with a steady gaze. ‘Don’t touch me. I’m going.’ He walked on to where the trees looked thinner. 

Wilson rubbed his face, taking deep breaths to steady his heartbeat. It felt weird seeing Maxwell again, exchanging words. The long monotony of winter was getting to him. He gripped his hands into fists. Chester! Did he miss him too? What if he thought he’d abandoned him? Was Maxwell being kind to him? He doubted the man was in the habit of giving belly rubs, Chester deserved so many of those! Wilson jumped, surprised by a swarm of penguins that jumped out at him. They slid away into the forest, coasting on their bellies. Loud, swaying creatures that didn’t care about friendship. Chester was so unique to this world. Should he stop and ask for his dog back? Be really polite? A rush of heat crept up his face. No. He couldn’t bring himself to ask anything of Maxwell. 

Wilson tried to see ahead on the map but saw only the surrounding forest, the way he’d come. I must find out for myself. When he opened his eyes Maxwell leaned against a tree beside him, as unhelpful as a Cheshire cat.  
Wilson gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Thought of something else to stop me?’  
‘Not going to lie-’  
‘Can you?’  
‘I planned on Chester being an instant deal to you.’  
Wilson placed his hands on his hips. ‘One deal with you cost me everything I had. Anything you offer will be a hard no for me.’ No matter how hard that is.  
Maxwell looked at the sky, taking a deep breath of cold, clean air. ‘Such a beautiful day. Would be a shame if a snowstorm came to stay here. The temperature would drop dramatically, making it hard to wander too far for your idle walks.’  
Wilson picked up his spear from his inventory, testing the point with a fingertip. ‘It’s only a matter of time until I find you, I’ll take Chester away from you then.’  
‘Big words.’  
‘And not a very big world. Can’t hide forever.’  
‘It’s beginning to look like it. What’s your plan? Besides what I don’t want you to.’  
Wilson sighed, not looking at Maxwell. ‘I’m resting. It’s a quiet world. Not much going on.’  
‘You noticed the barrier, the obelisks?’  
‘Hard to miss when they’re right in my base.’  
‘Aren’t we being plucky today, did you have some stubbornness for breakfast?’  
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Maxwell, I’ll throw rocks at you again, I swear.’  
‘I’ll stand still for ten seconds. You can collect as many stones as you want beforehand. You even get to count the seconds yourself.’  
Wilson looked up  
‘If you turn back.’  
He let out a breath, biting his lip and glancing at Maxwell. ‘That’s almost tempting. You really don’t want me to go on.’  
‘Wilson I’ve been trying to get you to understand this for the last half hour. Turn around. I’ll give you whatever you want.’  
Wilson laughed, holding up his hands. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. There’s nothing I want more than to keep walking.’  
Maxwell shook his head. ‘Fine. Go ahead and die, it’s your funeral.’  
‘Have a party when I do.’  
Maxwell frowned at Wilson as he walked past him. A twinge of unease crossed his otherwise smug face. What an odd thing to say. He left. 

Wilson had a skip in his walk. A red bird flew up towards the clouds, a flame in the whitened world. Winter had been good for him too. No hounds or spiders. Just him and the weather and the longing for Chester, the need to know if Charlies was okay. His shoulders sagged. At night, a faint song played on the breeze. Maybe she was dancing on it, stuck in a less terrible memory, unafraid for a while.  
He’d found the potato thing at the farm. This time there were no memories, unless you counted the sounds of coughing, the feeling of a heavy ache in the heart. So what if Maxwell’s childhood was awful? He’d still chosen to become the insufferable bastard he was today. He damned me to this place, Wilson knew. Others too. It doesn’t excuse him.  
He stopped and listened, Not yet. He was still safe. If he kept going like this, it would be night soon. Maybe Maxwell was sending him here to die, just to confuse him. Then the forest came to a halt and he could see a black and white field. No, it was a giant chessboard. Figures hopped around down there in a fog. The way they moved drew Wilson in. He took a step towards them with his mouth opening in wonder.  
‘Wilson!  
He jumped, lashing out at Maxwell. To his surprise, he got a hit on the man’s shoulder.  
Maxwell held up his fists, widening his stance. ‘Fight me, go for the eyes.’  
Wilson made a fist, but his head turned back to the figures. He could hear metallic sounds when they moved. There was something not natural about them, but not in a scary monster kind of way. He swallowed. ‘What are they?’  
Maxwell frowned. ‘My guards?’  
‘They’re guards?’ Wison turned to them, watching them clank around. They’re made of metal. His heart beat faster.  
‘Come on, Wilson. Look. I’m begging you, I’m getting on my knees. Fancy pants right down in the snow.’  
Wilson only half-turned, but he couldn’t draw himself away from the sight. He grabbed a tree for support when he realized. ‘They’re automatons!’  
Maxwell, on his knees in the snow, stared at the childlike wonder on Wilson’s face. He’d always thought that “starry eyes” was just a phrase. It turned out to be an actual thing that happened to people, like Wilson.  
Wilson clapped his hands to his heart, his voice thick with emotion. ‘They can move on their own!’ He shook his head, hands on his knees. Unable to speak.  
Maxwell got up, scratching his chin. ‘You want one?’  
‘Can I?’ Wilson gaped at him, then sighed. ‘No. They’re probably just made of magic or something.’  
Maxwell straightened, a sly grin on his face. ‘Oh no, they’re entirely mechanical. I can give you a broken one. Then you can see all the little gears and mechanisms working together. If you patch it up, it will be your friend, too.’  
Wilson slapped himself across the face. He pinched his arm, then walked up to the chessboard without a second look at Maxwell.  
Maxwell folded his arms. 

The moment Wilson stepped on the board he drew their attention. Chess Pieces, one of them a knight that jumped and pranced his way. It was bigger than him. An eerie, distorted horse sound rang out from its insides, like the last sounds a horse made dying in a car crash.  
Wilson knew he had to fight. It looked evil. Mean. But he let it come close and carve a line across his side as it swept by. It reeked of oil, of rust, and heated air. Wilson breathed it in, trying to see every bit as it tried to cut him. He fought back half-heartedly. ‘I don’t want to destroy you!’ It wanted to destroy him.  
Maxwell shouted something, but Wilson didn’t hear it. The knight got too close to killing him and he had to limp away. It followed a few hops off the board and then went back. 

Wilson breathed hard, his eyes on the distant figures. He bandaged himself, sat down in the dirt.  
‘Not all that nice, are they?’  
Wilson blinked up at Maxwell. ‘You’re still here?’  
‘Still am. You’ve quite made your mind up to get hurt by these things. I’m curious. Do you feel ready to go through everything again, when they kill you?’  
Wilson watched them leap and stagger, always on the same route, but with slight differences that made it clear they could think. The memory that came back just poured out of him. ‘When I was a child, I made an automaton. I used parts of our newest icebox, parts from mother’s curling irons. I put him together on our living room carpet and pulled electrical wiring from the wall to animate him.’ Wilson frowned, a vacant look crossed over his face. ‘I don’t remember how I got into the hospital, burned my hands and I couldn’t see less than two of everything. Mother didn’t speak to me for an entire year. Father went on a business trip abroad.’  
Maxwell pictured little Wilson in his mind; destroying the household items for parts, stubbornly insisting on frying himself alive. He chuckled.  
Wilson stood, still focused on the figures. ‘The second automaton I made got me sent to boarding school, but I swear it almost moved on its own. If only they hadn’t gotten me down from the roof before the storm!’  
‘You’re not even listening to me, are you?’  
Wilson turned to face him, his dark-circled eyes wild. There was something unhinged about his smile. ‘What makes them move like that? I want to see their insides!’ With those words he ran back to the board, spear in hand.  
Maxwell tapped his lips with his fingertips. 

After a while, Wilson made his way back. He wiped the blood from his eyes. ‘I can get them to lie down for a bit, but they’ll keep attacking me if I don’t kill them after that.’ He clinked the gears in his hands, tossing them into a big pile at the edge of the checkered stones. ‘But if I kill them they just drop gears and vanish. Very frustrating.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Maybe the stronger ones will live longer, long enough for me to see what makes them tick. I saw some unfamiliar shapes in the fog. There has to be more of them.’  
‘It will be dark soon,’ Maxwell said.  
Wilson waved a hand in the general direction of the speaker. ‘I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.’  
As Wilson approached the fog, a new piece stood out silhouetted against it. Wilson waved at it. ‘Hello? Do you care to help me with my research?’ It sent a lightning bolt straight into his skull.  
Wilson got onto his elbows from where he’d cracked the marble square. His hair stood on end, giving off smoke. He coughed, but then his dazed face gave way to a triumphant smile. ‘Looks like we have a winner!’ He took a running leap back to where the hurt had come from.  
Maxwell huffed. ‘Don’t have too much fun!’ he called after him. ‘You’re in a nightmare world on a difficult quest.’  
Standing by the gears, Maxwell watched the sky darken. ‘He’s just going to lose because of some silly insignificant chess pieces?’ He kicked a gear across the field. ‘There’s nothing special about all this metal junk, even if they can jump around on their own.’ He folded his arms. ‘The man’s got genuine horrors and living shadow, magic! But no, Wilson wants to play with the rusty metal puppets.’ He made a fire pit and sat down, his chin pressed into his hands. ‘Neglecting the quest! Am I not an imposing enemy? Maybe I should have mocked him more.’  
From behind the fog, battle-sounds drifted over; suffering metal and the occasional yelp from an unwary, but very determined, scientist.  
Maxwell jabbed the fire with a stick. Then he noticed the silence. Finally. Now that they were all dead… His eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet. ‘Wilson!’

Wilson stood in the remains of a metal army, a scrapyard of rust. The oil that covered him stung in his wounds but didn’t fully register yet. He dropped his spear. They were so beautiful, the giants of red steel, the Bishops, the horses. He pressed his hands to his eyes and his shoulders shook. They were the pinnacle of science, and now they had gone. He’d destroyed, learning nothing. Was there a greater loss?  
Wilson saw someone standing on the board. A last chance? He brushed his hair out of his eyes and stumbled up to it.  
No. It was only a person, someone he didn’t know. Wilson groaned with disappointment, then he blinked. Have I gone insane? There’s someone here!  
Wilson ran as fast as he could, wincing at his injuries. ‘I’m here! I’ll save you!’  
A man sat hunched in an invisible cage. Someone his age, with black hair and wearing strange clothes. Maxwell’s voice echoed up to him through the fog. ‘Wilson! Don’t!’  
The prisoner looked unaware of his surroundings. He pressed white-gloved hands to the barrier.  
Why was he in there? Wilson hesitated.  
Maxwell slid to a halt on the smooth marble but wasn’t coming any closer. ‘Don’t you dare!’  
Wilson made a face at him, then reached out for the invisible wall. His hands went through, touching the shoulder of the prisoner inside.  
Maxwell yelled out, grabbing his head and bending backward. ‘You did it. You really went and did it!’  
Wilson fell back as the man he’d free stood up. What looked like an impossibly pale face turned out to be white paint, complete with painted on red cheeks.  
Wilson frowned. A clown?  
The clown blinked, now a head taller than Wilson. He looked at his hands and then at himself, startled to be there. When he spotted Wilson, he jumped back. Then he placed a hand to his heart and the warmest smile Wilson had ever seen spread across the painted face.  
The clown held out his hand to him.  
Wilson was about to take it when the black claws rose from the ground. They picked up the prisoner and pulled him down.  
Silence ran out across the board, and a cold breeze brought in the night. Wilson shivered, holding up his torch.  
‘Maxwell?’  
‘I’m not talking to you.’  
‘Why did you imprison that man?’  
Maxwell looked at him as if it should be obvious. When Wilson just kept staring, Maxwell blinked in disbelief. ‘I just, really, really hate mimes.’  
‘What!’

Maxwell walked back towards the fire with big angry steps. ‘I can’t believe you touched it. I can’t believe you freed it! Thanks a lot, Wilson, now there is a mime in the world, silently...’ he gritted his teeth, ‘being there!’  
Wilson jogged to keep up, waving his torch. ‘That’s all? He’s a mime? You locked him up because he’s a mime?’  
‘I did nothing. I just convinced him he was stuck.’ Maxwell held out his hands in a choking grip. ‘The little creep did the rest to himself! I merely placed some guards, whom you butchered, to keep him there forever.’  
‘That’s it, he’s just a mime?’  
Maxwell laughed in disbelief. ‘Just a mime?’ He sat down by the fire, shaking his head. ‘Just a mime!’  
Wilson paused at the fire’s edge. Was he going to sit down with Maxwell at the fire? Too tired to build one of his own, Wilson decided he’d stay. Besides, this wasn’t over. He sat down, inhaling the warmth and letting his muscles settle into their aches.  
Maxwell seemed to notice they were sitting together too. He watched Wison wrap a band-aid across a cut in his upper leg, sitting very still himself. As if to move was to draw too much attention to their situation  
Wilson looked up. ‘Where is he now?’  
Maxwell hunched in on himself, glancing at the dark treeline. ‘He could be anywhere, that’s why I wanted him in one place. So I could know where he was. It was a small mercy that allowed me to forget about him for a blessed time.’  
Wilson stared at Maxwell across the flames, then cooked a small morsel of meat. ‘I think they’re funny, clowns.’  
‘Mimes wish they were clowns,’ Maxwell said, monitoring the trees.  
‘I think he was kind of cute.’  
Maxwell turned to stare at him, a dead look in his eyes.  
Wilson settled in closer to the fire, looking back with an innocent smile. ‘I thought he was an acrobat at first, with all those muscles. He’s so tall and lean, and those tight pants.’  
‘It’s called a leotard, a pair of pants for fools.’  
‘Maybe they help him be extra silent,’ Wilson made his hands into claws. ‘Then he sneaks up on people and pretend-stabs them.’  
‘You’re being very amusing.’  
Wilson stretched his neck, leaning back on his elbows. ‘It’s just... I never imagined you’d be afraid of anything. And then it’s mimes.’  
Maxwell scoffed. ‘Fear is universal, humanity was built on it. Every ancestor we ever had was afraid of something, and it helped them survive. It’s how we got here.’  
‘I got here by ignoring mine,’ Wilson said. He placed a log on the fire, making sparks fly up into the winter’s night.  
They sat in silence for a while. Maxwell lit a cigar.  
‘What are you afraid of?’ Wilson asked. ‘Besides people that don’t speak for a living.’  
Maxwell puffed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Losing my mind.’  
Wilson frowned, he was surprised to have gotten an answer. ‘Like going insane?’  
The man waved his cigar. ‘Insanity is just a twisted up version of yourself. It’s still you inside. Losing who I am would be the most painful.’ He rubbed the side of his face with his thumb.’ His eyes met Wilson. ‘Having my memories stolen, being put out of context to myself, at the mercy of the world’s interpretation. What I did to you, that is my worst fear.’  
Wilson looked away. ‘You’re being honest. ...seeing that mime rather messed with you, what.’  
‘I missed your company.’  
‘You do know I’m on my way to come kill you, right?’  
‘You’re not at my door just yet.’  
Wilson smiled to himself. ‘There’s still some work to do, but I’m confident.’  
Maxwell trailed the hem of his jacket. ‘You should be. I don’t think you’ll make it in one go, but you have it in you to succeed.’  
‘We’ll see.’  
Wilson poked the fire with a stick, watching the end burn and go out, leaving it blackened. Maxwell looked content just sitting there. He tried to feel the hatred he knew he had for the man, but he couldn’t reach it. He sighed, letting his shoulders drop. Maybe he was just tired. ‘So you built this world?’ he asked.  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Most of it. Though at some point it felt more like it was creating itself through me. Maybe there was someone before. At least a part of it already existed. A dark start.’  
‘You’ve outdone yourself on finishing those darker parts.’  
‘That’s fair to say.’  
‘Nothing fair about it.’  
Maxwell grinned from behind his cigar. ‘Then I guess the only fair thing here is you, I hope you win.’  
Wilson blushed but kept his composure otherwise, looking him in the eyes. ‘You might change your mind in the end.’  
‘I’ve seen what you did to those guys on the board, and you liked them.’  
Wilson nodded, he felt his heartbeat on his tongue, making it difficult to swallow. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Maxwell opened his mouth, but instead of saying something, he bit down on his cigar.  
Wilson got up. ‘Well, see you soon.’  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’ 

The grey light of dawn seeped into the world, and Wilson listened to something. A rhythmic sound droned up through his legs from the frozen ground, a heavy tread of something large and destructive. That was it. Tonight would be the night he’d breach the barrier. He let out a breath through his nose. It was time to get the last thing he could get here, and head home.  
Wilson picked the rest of the green mushroom he’d been ignoring until now. They were fine if you cooked them, but eat them raw…  
He checked the map, then held up the radio to be sure. The familiar pitch confirmed he was near. Wilson stopped, pressing his hands to his eyes. He breathed in deep, letting the frosty air into his lungs. Why couldn’t he hold on to his hatred? He felt weak, leaning against a tree for support. Something he’d been doing a lot lately.  
What am I supposed to think of myself? Why can’t I stop thinking about him? How am I supposed to tolerate the urge to crawl past the fire and onto the man’s lap?  
Wilson groaned into his cupped hands. This, the whole “quest”, it was all part of Maxwell’s game, of his show.  
Chances were that when he got to where Maxwell wanted him, it would all be a trap. A man like that would not just let someone kill him, or send him home. Wilson swallowed, staring at his boots. He’ll just steal my memories again and make me start over. A shiver ran up his back. Maybe it had already happened. How could he know it didn’t?  
Wilson pushed away from the tree, forcing himself to keep walking. He was on a schedule now.

Maxwell glared down at the burnt-out fire. There had been something else in Wilson today. Such defiance, but at the same time... resignation? He sighed, picking up the stick Wilson had been bothering the fire with. ‘Only the strong survive,’ he said, tossing the stick to the side. Wilson wasn’t stupid. He’d catch on, eventually. There was no way in which he could trust him, Maxwell, to give him an actual chance. 

Wilson looked at the maze, an inward spiral of land surrounded by black water. At the center lay the treasure, the third Thing he needed. He ventured forth. There was no other way about it. The ground bubbled, and he was quick enough to avoid being slashed by the tentacle. They sprang up around him while he ran, infesting the maze. To dodge them all was impossible on the narrow path. One got to his back, taking a chunk out of his log armor. Another one struck his leg, chipping away at the wood and promising some genuine pain ahead. The Thing was still far away, at this pace they’d get to draw blood. The same old price for progress.  
His armor gave out about halfway in, springing to pieces under a whack from the side. The next tentacle tore a gash across his back that made him fall. It was still a shock how much it hurt. Wilson got back up, painting the snow red. Why was this different from fighting the automaton? That hadn’t tired him at all, even though the fight had hurt about the same.  
One caught him a blow to the side of his face, to his arm.  
Wilson eventually made it to the center, clutching the Thing to his chest. He’d enjoyed fighting the chess pieces, trying to see how they worked. It had invigorated him. How long ago since he’d done science not for survival, but for the sake of doing it? It hadn’t always been work; it had been a goal in itself. Enough, until it ate up his life. Until it became the thing he needed to give him worth.  
Wilson sighed. He’d made no friends, he’d sought out no-one. Maybe that was why Maxwell had such an earth-shattering effect on him, taking the spotlight in his lonely, desperate life. Wilson made himself new armor. If there was one thing winter offered, it was wood for armor. Now he had to go the long way back, likely to get torn to pieces. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. 

He stumbled out of the maze, torn and bleeding. Sitting down on a rock, he reached out for Chester’s soft fur but got a handful of snow instead. Wilson covered his face with his hands. ‘Damn you, Maxwell.’ The thundering footsteps through the soles of his shoes were getting nearer. Only a few hours left.  
He got the last of the bandages out of his inventory and tied his fingers together. Wilson let out a labored breath, and the roll slipped from his finger, bouncing away across the snow. He hunched up and sat there, too tired to get up, his head in his hands. ‘Damn it all.’  
Footsteps approached him through the snow, and he sensed a tall shape standing over him.  
‘Go away,’ he muttered. ‘I need a minute.’  
Someone took one of his hands and bandaged it for him.  
Wilson bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his eyes closed so the tears couldn’t come out.  
‘You better be the mime,’ he said. His other hand was negotiated free and also tended too. Wilson swallowed down the painful lump in his throat and looked up. Maxwell extended a hand, cupping his face. Wilson pressed into it. He reached out, gripping Maxwell’s coat and pulled himself up into its warmth.  
‘I hate you,’ he said, breathed between hurried kisses. ‘I hate you so much. I can’t- stand it.’ Maxwell tilted Wilson’s head back and planted slow kisses down his throat. Wilson groaned, he hated himself. How his stomach fluttered, how his skin flushed where the other man touched him, how he arched up to deepen every touch, making every kiss longer and deeper, losing himself. Why was his body not recoiling away? This man will break you, he thought as his breathing sped up, just like he broke Charlie. Don’t you care? He doesn’t even have to do anything. He is a cliff side that people crush themselves on like waves. And for what, to be amusing for a while? Why?  
He hung back, hanging onto the broad shoulders and looking up into that unreadable face. Why can’t I let go? Why do I want to be close with someone that I know is a monster, but can’t see the monster when they’re near? A terrible realization rushed over him, taking his breath away in sudden vertigo. He bunched his fists into the coat’s fur, bursting into tears. ‘I hate you!’  
Maxwell lifted an eyebrow, drawing attention to how close they were entangled, Wilson’s hands practically inside his clothes. Wilson brought his face close to Maxwell’s. ‘Just because I hate you, doesn’t mean I don’t want you.’  
Wilson laughed at himself, the sound had a note of hysteria to it. He took a step back, smoothing down his hair. He could only smile at the horrible situation he was in. When he looked back, he sounded normal, almost formal. Only a slight hitch to his breath hinted at his inner turmoil. ‘But can we hurry it up?’ he asked. ‘I have plans for this evening.’  
Maxwell studied him. Then he closed the distance. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you from anything.’  
Wilson’s face slackened as Maxwell picked him up and carried him away. He held onto Maxwell’s neck, pressing his head to his and closing his eyes.  
I don’t care. He stared off unseeing into the distance. Maybe I should, but I want this. He felt numb and heavy. If his body wanted Maxwell so much, he would let it have him. 

Maxwell brought them to a slope in the forest. He laid out his coat between the trees and placed Wilson down on it. Wilson dropped his chin to his chest, looking at his knees. But he’d decided and reached for Maxwell when he joined him. Maxwell caught his wrists in his, clasping them together. He pulled him closer, breathing him in. ‘So eager.’  
Wilson shuddered, his breath quickened. He readjusted himself, opening his legs slightly. ‘I’m in a hurry, remember.’  
Maxwell chuckled. He pulled Wilson up to his lap and with his free hand reached for the skin underneath his shirt.  
Wilson tried to go in for more kisses, but Maxwell wouldn’t let him. So he let his head fall back on his shoulder while the man undressed him.  
Maxwell pressed him down onto the coat. He traced his gloved hand over the freshly bandaged skin, tracing scars. He had to pause, Wilson gazed up at him with such open eyes, his body lying there exposed beneath him, waiting and vulnerable. Pale and hurt, but tough from surviving… everything. Maxwell breathed out slow between his lips, then pressed his hand over Wilson’s face, covering the stare.  
He rushed it. Grabbing, tasting, squeezing the supple body where he wanted. He cradled Wilson’s head while he moved into him, keeping the other man from seeing, from looking at him, from being a person, holding his hands immobile against the ground. He used him. Holding him so close, Wilson struggled to breathe. Then it was over. 

Wilson cleaned himself off while Maxwell sat with his back towards him, smoking his cigar.  
Maxwell tipped ashes into the snow. ‘Was that expeditious enough for you?’  
‘Yeah,’ Wilson breathed out, getting back into his vest. ‘Thank you for your time.’  
Maxwell let out a laugh. When he looked back Wilson had gone. Strange. He shook his head, going back to his shackled body in the dark room.  
Why the sudden change in demeanor? He sat on his throne, watching Wilson trek back to his winter base alone. One moment declaring eternal hatred, being all agreeable the next. Youth, who could explain its behaviors? Beside him, Chester let out a low sound.  
Maxwell cast him a glance. ‘Oh, right.’  
He was about to head back with the Chester, he could give Wilson a treat, why not? Then Wilson made it back to his base and began building in a frenzy. He planted fire pits in random chaos around the base; the flames casting a fierce glow against the gathering darkness, gleaming on the obelisks. Wilson had to know how they worked, Maxwell had seen him test them.  
Wilson placed science machines in a row with crock pots between them. Filling the area with everything he could think of.  
He then stepped back to look at it all, leaning against the barrier that cut him off from the last Thing, and the place to build them together. Wilson stuffed green mushroom into his mouth.  
Maxwell frowned. ‘That’s his plan?’ he shrugged. ‘A little straightforward, but it should work.’ Chester let out a soft, questioning bark. Maxwell waved his hand at him, raising his voice. ‘Shush, I want to see this!’

Wilson held onto the barrier. Everything shook, the lids of the crock pots jumped in unison and it was hard to keep standing. He forced another mushroom into his mouth. When cooked, they tasted nice, an earthy aroma that soothed the mind. Only mildly poisonous. But raw they packed a punch that tore at sanity itself, their mushy flesh oozing a bitter slime down his throat. Wilson coughed, pressing a hand to his mouth, scrunching up his face. God!  
He was eating them like this to drive himself insane. He reeled as the world twisted out of shape. Another one!  
The barrier reacted to it, sliding down maybe an inch. It demanded a greater sacrifice. Wilson dropped to his knees. He couldn’t eat another one. His mouth wouldn’t open, clenching shut to protect him from himself. He groaned. The barrier wasn’t even halfway down.  
He hit the trembling ground with his fist. ‘It’s okay! It’s part of the plan! Trust me!’ He managed another mushroom. Suddenly the world was red, pulsating as it suffered from a fatal disease. Wilson patted his face, his fingers slick with sweat. Did his eyeballs burst? The barrier came down a few meters more. He fell on his side, convulsing. Smart move, body.  
No way to eat poisonous mushrooms if you were having a stroke. 

That was the moment the monster walked into his camp, obliterating the trees and taking a swipe at the crock pots. He’d called it here by building too much. It had the same hatred towards structures as the first night he’d set up camp here. Wilson stood, his body going into overdrive, heartbeat close to a whine. The cyclopean giant roared and he let out a primal scream with it. The monster warped the surrounding air, or the mushrooms did that.  
Then the giant eye focused on him. The sight of it coming for him drove his sanity down the rest of the way. Wilson fell backward as the barrier slunk into the ground. He ran, gibbering, afraid beyond comprehension.  
Spiders invested the bridge on the other side, their webbing slowed him down. Several spiders were coming for him. But they were no match for the creature that followed. It raised a claw and rained down icicles on them, capturing them in ice-sculptures, splintering them to bits as it walked through.  
Wilson dashed through a forest and disappeared between the trees. The only problem was that he’d forgotten how to walk. He stared up at his useless legs, kicking the air. Around him, trees were being crushed and then the monster loomed into his torchlight. That’s when his arms fell off.  
Wilson stared at them flop around on their own. But how was he still holding the torch if his arms had fallen off? He gasped. Wings, he’d grown wings made of flames! He made himself into a little ball and then threw himself at the sky. He left the ground and the monster far behind, sailing away. 

Maxwell looked at the scene with a deep look of concern. Wilson was running around with his arms outstretched, flapping them wildly at his sides. The deerclops was right there, but by some instinct or luck, Wilson kept ahead of it. He was also still holding a torch. 

Wilson chortled. So this is what it was like to be a bird! No wonder they were always singing. He soared gracefully, his legs held out straight. He pouted as his stomach made a noise. ‘But I’m hungry!’ He flapped his wings to a halt, then down he went. On the ground, he found some seeds, but he spat them out. That wasn’t very delicious. Rummaging through his inventory, he found some roasted mushrooms, an entire stash of them! Now that was a meal. 

Maxwell whistled. ‘That might work!’ The deerclops had lost the trail. It busied itself fighting off tree guardians that avenged their trees. Wilson ate his cooked mushroom, which would surely restore his sanity. Suddenly Wilson dropped his mushroom. And the one after that. Maxwell leaned in on the screen. That didn’t look right. 

Wilson kicked his feet in the dirt. ‘Stop it, I need my snack!’ He got another mushroom, and it too lifted into the air and threw itself on the ground. ‘Not fair!’ He threw his head back. ‘Mother, the mushrooms won’t go into my belly! I desire to eat the mushrooms, mother!’  
A tall shadow detached itself from the night. Wilson stared at it, his mouth hanging open. ‘It’s the bogeyman, here to come to fetch me!’  
The ominous figure tilted its head, staring at Wilson with glowing eyes, its unruly hair sticking out at all angles.  
‘I am eating my vegetables, mister bogeyman’ Wilson said, holding out a mushroom. The watcher made it fly from his hand, and it too landed on the grass. Wilson’s looked at the dropped food, his eyes unfocused. ‘Will they grow back?’  
As the light from Wilson’s torch weakened, the figure crept closer, hunching over him. Wilson hummed a tune to himself, looking up at the monster. ‘Mother? I’ve drawn you a picture. It has a heart on it.’ He held out the dying torch to the shadow as the darkness closed around them. The watcher leaned in as if for a kiss, Wilson smiled. ‘You forgive me, Mother?’  
An oily black sword cut through the silhouette and it slid to the side, unharmed but held back. 

Maxwell stepped in its place, pocketing his sword to make a torch, just before Wilson’s guttered out. When he went to pick up the mushrooms they had vanished.  
Wilson clicked his feet together. ‘I made a mess and I’m sorry. Do I have to go to my room now?’  
‘You did nothing wrong,’ Maxwell said, looking around for the watcher but not seeing it. Now that it had gone, the other shadows were coming in for a try. ‘Hold this for me, will you?’ He handed Wilson the torch. Wilson held it up, looking proud.  
Maxwell stuck out his sword to Them, it could hurt them and they knew. For now, that made them keep their distance.  
Wilson nearly hit him, swinging the torch. ‘I got a sword from Satan for Christmas!’  
Maxwell tried to take it away from him but failed. ‘Don’t you mean Santa? Can I see it?’  
‘It’s sharp! Let’s fight!’ He made a swipe at Maxwell, who was not in the mood. The surrounding night writhed with Them, and they wanted a piece of Wilson.  
He swiped Wilson’s feet from under him and took the torch back.  
Wilson’s lip quivered, but he didn’t cry. ‘That hurt! You don’t play fair!’  
Maxwell smiled a hard smile. ‘That’s how you win, kid.’  
Wilson found a tentacle spear in his inventory and held it up. ‘Let’s fight!’  
‘All right, that’s enough!’ Maxwell took that from him too and wrapped him in his coat, knotting the sleeves behind Wilson’s back like a straightjacket. ‘Behave.’  
Wilson let out a battle scream and kicked his legs in the air. He launched himself up and landed on his feet. ‘I’m a warrior crab!’ he yelled, running away sideways into the night. 

Maxwell considered for a second to let it play out like this, then he ran after him. The shadows were thick on him and Maxwell had to fight them off before he could dig Wilson out.  
He then tied Wilson’s legs together with his belt, sitting on his back. I need time to think! Then it rained. 

Wilson struggled, he couldn’t get up because his legs fused together. Lightning cleaved the sky, and a man was standing over him. He frowned. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’  
They were in a tiny boat on the sea, and a big storm raged around them. The waves piled up high, furious, and loud. ‘Why did you catch me,’ Wilson asked the man. He tried to get the netting off his beautiful fishtail. ‘Throw me back into the water right now! I’m a mermaid, I belong to the ocean.’

Maxwell rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘You’re a mermaid now. Can you be a thing that’s quiet for a while? How about a rock?’  
Wilson winked at him, a knowing smile on his lips. ‘Did I tempt you?’  
Maxwell threatened the shadows with his sword, alternating between the torch. ‘Oh, you’re tempting me all right.’  
With a sigh, Wilson rolled onto his back, blinking into the rain. ‘I’m sorry I did that. I can’t be with you.’  
Maxwell looked about for some mushrooms, flowers, anything to get the man back to sanity. ‘That’s nice,’ he said. Stabbing one of the more courageous shadows, then slashing it in two. That drove them back a little, but not far.  
‘Come on,’ he threw Wilson over his shoulder. ‘We will look for something to eat.’  
Wilson squirmed. ‘I’m flattered, but you have to let me go.’  
‘In a minute,’ Maxwell said through clenched teeth. They were right behind them and keeping up. He picked up some fallen logs, some grass. He huffed. ‘And here I was, thinking you liked me.’  
‘You’re handsome enough. But I’m already in love with someone.’  
Maxwell cut down another shadow; a bloated, tick-like creature with too many little legs. He’d never appreciated how ugly they were. ‘Really?’  
‘Don’t tell Maxwell, it’s a secret.’  
Maxwell stopped, almost tripping over his feet. Even the shadows stopped to stare. ‘You think you- what?’  
Wilson shrugged. ‘I will never tell him. So it’s okay.’  
Suddenly Maxwell felt the full weight of what he was carrying. He had to put it down.  
Wilson curled up on his side by the fire Maxwell built. Then Maxwell went to work, murdering the shadows that were dumb enough to still be there. 

Wilson looked at the pretty flames, they danced and he could hear them sing faintly.  
Someone came back, a man covered in black stains.  
‘What do you even know,’ the man said, kneeling by his side and feeding him something delicious. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Love, come on! You’re such a child.’  
Wilson frowned, being fed another morsel. He swallowed, feeling a little less lost.  
‘He doesn’t love you back,’ the man said, ‘you know that right? Maxwell doesn’t love anyone, only himself.’  
‘I know,’ Wilson said. ‘I can’t help it. It just happened.’ His eyes fell shut, but the man shook him awake. ‘You’re not done here yet, get your head right. Eat this.’  
Wilson did. He no longer had his beautiful tail, and he could only vaguely remember having wings at some point. The man pulled him into a sitting position, braiding something into his hair. Flower petals rained down in front of his face. Pretty!  
‘What happened to your plan?’ the man asked, braiding furiously. ‘You were going on and on about wanting to kill him. You were looking for weapons to do it with.’  
Wilson frowned, wincing as the man yanked his hair. ‘Who?’  
‘Maxwell!’  
He sighed. ‘I just want to see him.’  
The man pushed him over and walked away. Then he came back and untied him. ‘This is my coat,’ the man said, tearing it off him.  
‘Thank you,’ Wilson said.  
‘No!’  
Then the man was gone. 

Wilson sat up in the sunlight. It was slightly warmer where he was. His face lit up as he saw the fire and felt the flowers in his hair. He’d done it! The plan had worked. He hugged himself, patting his back. ‘Good job, body. I knew I could count on you.’ 

‘Idiot!,’ Maxwell yelled at the screen. He seethed, his fists shaking. ‘What a fool, look at the fool, Chester! Look at how clueless he is!’  
Chester turned away, not even growling at him now. Maxwell felt his heart skip a beat and he slid down in his seat. ‘God! I didn’t even give him back the dog.’  
He breathed in through his nose, sitting up straight. ‘It’s nothing. A little infatuation. It happens. I am very magnificent.’ His voice shook, and he shut his lips in a thin line. He tapped his heel as fast as the shackles would let him. He bunched his fists. His hands were suddenly cold and clammy.  
‘I don’t believe in love,’ he told the shadows that were always watching. ‘It’s not real, it means nothing. It’s something people use to keep you down.’ A weakness.  
He watched Wilson collect the last Thing and head for the place of assembling.  
‘I need to get this over with,’ the man on his throne growled to himself. When Wilson passed through, Maxwell didn’t go to look.


	10. Worlds within worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the conclusion of part one. I hope you enjoyed this little venture. I'll take a little break to plan out part two, then we'll be back to weekly updates.  
> I'd like to improve, also on ao3 formatting, so if you have suggestions, feel free to say so. (I went back and fixed earlier gross outliers, wow google docs you are bad at spelling checks)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Wilson hummed to himself as he walked. Flowers bloomed everywhere on the green grass, perfuming the fresh breeze that swayed the forest. Even the trees looked lusher underneath the blue sky. A perfect day and all the days were like this.  
The nights were quick and there were no monsters, not even hounds. Chester wasn’t there. Wilson sighed, he found himself collecting too many things to carry. He wanted to sit on the grass and pet the good old boy. Maxwell hadn’t shown his face either. Wilson let out another sigh. He sat down to pick at a flower. He’d been doing that a lot, stopping to just be there for a while. He took out the radio, but it stayed silent; no Things to be found. It didn’t bother him that much, he’d get them, eventually.

Wilson tossed the flower petals to the wind. He had to get up into a brisk walk. Staying still for too long made him uneasy. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting something to show up to ruin his day. Trouble had been the norm for so long, he didn’t trust an uncomplicated life handed to him like this. That’s why he smiled when the pig came stumbling out of the bushes in front of him. It looked at him and threw up its arms. ‘Queen!’  
His breathing sped up, and he held out his spear. Wilson nodded his chin up at the creature. ‘Back off!’  
The pig’s arms came down.  
Wilson took a step forward. ‘Go on! Get!’ The pig ran away, squealing either in terror or delight. With his body covered in sweat, Wilson held the sides of his head to steady his breathing. ‘It’s fine, it’s gone.’ The blood rushed in his ears and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He looked up with hatred in his eyes and ran into the woods after it.  
‘Here piggy piggy!’ Wilson slashed a bush. ‘Where are you!?’ He stopped to listen. ‘I just want to talk!’  
He stabbed the first rustle he heard, but only frightened a large turkey out of a berry bush. Wilson chomped down on the berries, keeping his eyes open. It was good to feel the rush of adrenaline, seeing his fears realized in front of him. The peace, the beautiful sunlit pastures, it was all a lie.  
The pig looked at him from behind a tree. Wilson raised his spear, but it was already fleeing, its arms in the air, and squealing high.  
It’s having fun, Wilson realized. ‘I’ll show you something fun!’ He called after it, desperate to catch up.

He came to a grinding halt at the edge of a hilltop. Pigs, a multitude of them, all busying themselves with something on the field below. They’d built themselves a tiny village. The sight of so many of them made his stomach drop, he could taste their smell on his tongue. Wilson gagged, stepping back on weak legs. But they’d spotted him and a happy chorus of “Queen! Queen!” rang up to him on his hilltop. Wilson pressed his hand to his racing heart. If he ran, they would follow him. If he let the situation get out of control, it would be the end. His voice rose in pitch and volume. ‘Stop! Don’t come any closer!’ They stopped running up to him.

Wilson let out a giddy laugh. I can’t go back, I have to go forward. I have to be brave. The only way out is through. He went down to them, stunning himself by how composed he stayed. A part of him was screaming in his head, maybe it would always scream at him. They were still tall and strong and could probably do to him what they wanted. Wilson’s eyes darted across their uniform faces. Were they the same pigs? It was impossible to tell.

I can’t kill them all. He forced himself to keep walking, his back straight, his head high as he walked, and they parted to let him into the village.

‘It’s nice,’ he said, the whites of his eyes standing out and his voice a little high. ‘Those are some houses… that you built here. They all look the same and they’re not special, or beautiful. But it’s what you live in, and that will just have to do.’

Maxwell’s hand gripped his armrests, shaking. He watched Wilson make a strange, formal tour of the village, the pigs following him all the way. Then the man sat down at the head of a long table on the village square, and the pigs were preparing a feast. He tried to see Wilson’s face better; a terrified smile, keeping up a stream of comments on all things. Maxwell wrestled with himself, but he went to see if everything was okay.

Wilson turned to the figure standing at his side. His heart skipped when he recognized Maxwell and he flung himself onto the man’s shoulders. ‘You’re here,’ he let out a breath and held on tight. Maxwell patted his shoulder, brushing a hand through his hair. ‘Are you okay?’  
Wilson nodded, pressing his head against Maxwell’s chest.  
The square had gone silent. Wilson bent over backwards from his embrace. ‘Get back to work!’ he yelled, and they did.  
Maxwell let him go. ‘You seem to have this under control.’Wilson took his hand, as if studying it. When he looked up his left eye twitched. ‘I am one second away from losing it completely.’ A pig approached them with a chair and Wilson nodded, pointing next to his seat. He dragged Maxwell into a walk.  
Maxwell let himself be pulled along. Wilson leaned into him, closing his eyes. His breathing steadied somewhat, and the jumpiness eased out of his movements.  
‘This is a nightmare,’ the scientist said. ‘But they’re doing what I say.’ His eyes searched Maxwell’s face. ‘Are they the same pigs? Did they come back?’  
Maxwell paused, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’  
Wilson nodded at a dish presented to him in passing, not seeing the food at all. He hooked his arm in Maxwell’s. ‘How’s Chester?’  
‘Annoying.’  
Wilson let out a long breath through his nose. ‘How are you?’

Maxwell stopped, making Wilson stop. Wilson tried to pull him along again, but the older man pressed his hands down on his shoulders, looking stern. ‘Stay put a minute, what’s your plan here?’  
‘I can’t. I’m… antsy?’ Wilson sighed. ‘It’s oddly freeing to be here with them. I’m in control and-’ His shoulders sagged, and he held onto Maxwell’s arm again. ‘I don’t know.’  
‘You like it here?’  
‘No.’ Wilson shook his head. ‘Do you like it here?’ He tipped his head to one side, eyeing the other man. ‘Do you know how you got here? In this world, I mean.’  
‘Of course,’ Maxwell said, but he didn’t elaborate. He let Wilson start their walk again, noting the grateful smile.  
Wilson pointed out a flowerbed to him because it looked pretty.  
Maxwell confirmed it looked pretty, but he wasn’t looking at them. He looked at the glow on Wilson’s face, illuminated by the bright-colored flowers, how alive his eyes were. He hooked a finger underneath Wilson’s chin and drew him in for a kiss. Wilson’s skin felt hot to his touch, a feverish heartbeat underneath his hands. He eased himself free, looking Wilson in the eye. ‘You could stay here, you know.’  
Wilson laughed, an almost carefree sound. It made the pigs around them laugh along. Wilson screamed at them to stop and they did.  
Wilson sighed. ‘No, it’s not real. I want to see what’s behind it all.’  
Maxwell adjusted his collar from where Wilson had upset it, his eyes focused on the task. ‘That  
was some great surviving you did, getting all the way here. Did your plan work out, the one you wouldn’t tell me about in winter?’  
Now it was Wilson’s time to shrug. ‘I think so, I don’t really remember.’ He frowned. ‘There was something about a fish? It gets vague from there.’  
‘Great!’ Maxwell grasped his hands for a moment and let go just as fast. ‘Some outstanding work.’  
Wilson shook his head. ‘You really don’t believe I’ll find you?’  
Maxwell looked into his eyes, and coldness crept into his voice. ‘I believe you can and will get to me. I don’t think you’ll like what you’ll find.’  
Wilson narrowed his eyes, his fists clenched, ready to get into an argument. Maxwell grabbed his throat. He leaned in and looked down, drawing a quick intake of breath from the younger man. ‘I’ve grown fond of you, Wilson. I’m impressed. That’s why I want to give you a choice.’ He leaned in closer, his voice low, their lips almost touching. ‘You can stay here, and we’ll be together. I’ll get rid of the pigs or you can keep them. But stop trying to find me.’  
Wilson smiled, his eyes half-lidded shut. ‘You should have picked someone else. I’m a scientist, I need to get at everything there is to know.’ His eyes saddened, and the smile dropped. ‘Besides, I want to see what you’ve got planned for me, your pal you’re so fond of.’ He swallowed, closing his eyes against the grip. ‘I have to know.’  
Maxwell opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His lips became a thin line and stepped back. ‘You won’t like it. It will hurt.’  
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. ‘Knowledge always comes with a price.’  
Maxwell sighed at those words. For a moment he looked lost.  
Wilson folded his arms. ‘Want to join me for dinner? I’ll be leaving after that, when my…  
subjects have gone to sleep.’  
‘I think I’ll see you soon enough. I need to prepare myself for when you arrive.’  
Wilson walked back to the banquet table, pointing his fingers at him. ‘I won’t disappoint you.’  
Maxwell swallowed past the sharp pain in his throat. ‘I know.’

Sitting on his throne in the dark, Maxwell watched Wilson hold a toast to the pigs. Then he turned off the screen and sent it away. He straightened his shoulders, and closing his eyes, focused on the horrible music, the watching shadows always there.  
Chester made a sad sound, making him blink. ‘Oh, you.’ Maxwell sighed. ‘He’ll be down here in a little while and then you can keep him company. He’ll be glad to have you then.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘It’s too late for anything else, I was silly to even suggest it. It’s the weak-willed giving way to the strong. It’s not fair, but life is never fair.’  
Chester barked.  
‘Don’t push your luck.’  
Maxwell settled back into his gloom. The shadows, the music. How did I get here? What a question. My awful decisions got me here. My hubris. But those were just words. Maxwell strained to see into his past, the images, the words. The feelings… gone. Nothing there. He knew there had been a night on a stage that had gone wrong. She had been there too. A shadow version of himself stepped out in front of him. There he was, on stage, being a magician. A smaller shape was there too. Then the shadowy players seemed to despair about something, and then they went away. He rolled his eyes. ‘Very helpful.’  
The shadows snickered. Yes, they’d taken some parts of him during the years. His nostrils flared at the thought. Yet these missing pieces didn’t feel like he’d give them up easily. Did he do something himself? To make it easier? He chuckled at the idea. ‘It doesn’t matter. I have kept myself safe. I endured through an eternity alone and I’ve proven myself resilient.’ And I’ll leave it all behind me when I go. The only way forward is through.

Wilson found what he needed directly behind the village. His torchlight shone on a hole in the ground, a mouth that wanted to eat him up and bring him to another place.  
That’s where the Things are, I know it.  
But this mouth looked weird, with a greenish hue to the otherwise pink flesh, the teeth dulled and grey. It looks sick. But soon the pigs would be awake and they would look for their Queen. Wilson jumped in with only the slightest hesitation.  
It slurped him down through a feverish tunnel that squeezed him while it coughed. When it spat him out Wilson gagged and shivered. A yellow mucus stuck to him, making him squirm in revulsion. ‘Evil, sick-’ the hole coughed in his face, then it died.  
‘Oh.’ Wilson watched it twist up into itself and vanish. ‘Good!’ He staggered upright. But now there was no way back, and this place could not have been more different from the world before.  
Wilson stood still to take the unknown place in; a wasteland stretched out before him, empty, ravaged by a cold wind. Walking through it seemed to damage the depleted ground, leaving broken footprints in the cracked dirt.

He jumped when a hound growled at him from under a layer of dust. But it was in no state to go after him; emaciated and dull, it lay there waiting to die. Wilson held his spear to his chest, passing it by. He couldn’t help trying to offer it a scrap of meat. It bared its teeth at him, ready to take his arm along with the treat.  
Wilson quickened his step. ‘Fine, then starve!’ It tried to get him. But its legs wouldn’t support it, making it fall down in the dirt, where it howled at him. This was no place to show weakness.

More familiar creatures lay about, a spider nest riddled with sand, the dried-up inhabitants decorating it like the world’s most depressing fruitcake. He passed an empty tallbird nest; the eggs broken open with the baby bird skeletons still inside.  
Wilson checked his inventory. There was enough to eat for now, but the desolation made him nervous. Maybe he should have brought some pigs along. If only to eat them, should things get too desperate. He shook his head. Was he capable of that? Something of his pain and hatred had gone away during that dinner, a sense of pride in his own courage had settled in to push out the fear. He laughed despite himself. This was a strange world to be alive in.  
He grinned, brushing his hair back.  
But I came a long way. I discovered so much. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get the sand out. Do I still believe I can go home? I will see Maxwell, that will happen. The thought sent a flutter to his stomach. His mind lingered on how they’d walked through the village.  
Stay there. Be together. He sighed.  
Wilson held up the radio and caught the first signal.  
‘I need to know.’ I have to see what’s behind all this, who Maxwell truly is. His body seemed to agree, pushing on without a care.  
The Things were laughably easy to get. He already had two of them with the third nearby. With all the monsters and creatures either too starved or weak or gone, this place had nothing to offer in ways of a fight. He whistled, walking with a bounce in his step that seemed to mock the surrounding misery. It was difficult to cope with otherwise. It would not get to him that easily.

The walls of the farmland seemed the only thing that stood upright here, undamaged and standing proud. Wilson expected shouting, or the sound of sickness, but the radio stayed quiet besides the signal. It led him to the house itself; it no longer sat there crumbling, it looked almost new. Was this before Maxwell left? This place felt like it went further back in time whenever he visited.  
Wilson lingered on the heavy wooden doorstep. Did he really have to go into the quiet house? It looked dark and uninviting. But it would be dark soon. Best to get it over with.  
He went in feeling very out of place. It was strange to be in an actual house, under an actual roof. It felt like trespassing. Wilson kept his guard up. Maybe Maxwell’s dad would come at him with a cane. Sad, sad Maxwell. The house looked sizeable enough though, scrubbed clean, a little dark. A little empty. Did they have to sell all their furniture?  
‘William?’  
Wilson dropped the radio on his foot. When he picked it up, the woman called again. He followed the voice to a small room at the back of the house. She sounded so frail, but not old at all. ‘William?’ Her call was so urgent Wilson wanted to answer, if only to spare her from wasting the breath she clearly didn’t have.  
‘I’m here.’ That was Maxwell. So he had been called William at some point, if only by his parents. Wilson didn’t know what to think about that. He pressed his ear to the radio.  
The rustling of someone sitting on a bedside?  
Maxwell spoke again with a sense of hurry, like he kept looking over his shoulder. Where was the dad? ‘I got you a horse and cart,’ Maxwell said. ‘Don’t ask me how. I’m taking you to the city to see a doctor. God, your hands are freezing.’  
‘William.’  
‘He drank himself senseless. We can leave.’  
‘Could you bring the candle?’  
A heavy pause. ‘...It’s right here.’  
Wilson didn’t dare to breathe, they were so quiet.  
‘William-’  
‘I’m lifting you out of bed, we have to go. They’ll fix you, they have medicine in the city, people of science. We’ll take the blanket.’ A groan of pain and a helpless gasp in response. A figure falling back on the bed. ‘Don’t touch me!’ The woman groaned, ‘it hurts.’  
Maxwell’s voice cracked, but there was resolve there. ‘I’ll fetch them here!’  
‘William!’ The voice of his mother was clear and stern. Wilson heard knees hit the floorboards, hands being grasped. ‘I’m here.’  
‘Don’t let them do this to you,’ she said, struggling to breathe. ‘Look at me. I’m weak. Don’t let them use you up. They’ll tire of you, they’ll abandon you, they’ll leave you helpless.’  
‘Mother, we- don’t. Please, it’s not too late. Save your strength.’  
‘Make something of your life. Don’t be pathetic, stop crying.’  
‘Mother?’ The frantic rustle of fabric. ‘Mom!’  
Wilson stuffed the radio away as the cries wouldn’t stop. He stifled a sob, his face red and his breathing shallow. Then he picked up the Thing and fled out of the house.

It felt good to be out, away from that hole of sadness. He wiped the tears from his face and half-jogged to be away faster. Parents could really mess you up. All his parents had done was silently disapproved of him whenever he had a thought of his own. Maybe they had disowned him via letter, but at least they didn’t die calling him weak.

Wilson struggled to put what had happened into thoughts, but he just floundered with his hands. He felt sorry for Maxwell. What else was there?  
Wilson wrapped his arms around himself and let them swing. It still didn’t excuse Maxwell. He shook his head, blowing out air and taking big steps across the withered plane. Charlie was here. What did she do to deserve this fate?  
What about me? What will he do to me? The light of his torch shone on the final Thing, it lay in a ring of ashes where usually evil flowers grew. This was also the place to assemble the machine. How convenient. He frowned, it was all going very fast. Was he okay? He felt his face, placed a hand on his stomach. Besides feeling upset, he didn’t feel like he was in danger. He was eager to keep moving.  
Wilson looked up at the night sky. For the first time, it didn’t feel like it was looking back at him. He made a fire; the light casting long shadows behind the dried-up trees. ‘This is it. One more to go and then we’ll see where Maxy lives.’ He balanced his spear in his hand, watching the tip glint in the moonlight. ‘Maybe I can save us both?’  
Someone snickered. A shadow stared at him from the edge of the firelight; the long specter with the disheveled head. Wilson threw another log on the flames, making the shadows back off as the ring of light expanded. ‘That’s right, creep. Get lost.’  
It stayed there throughout the long night, staring at the back of his head. Wilson poked the flames, resting his head on his hand, ignoring it.

In the morning Wilson ate his breakfast and checked if he had everything he needed. This time those claws would not surprise him. He’d take what he needed and venture forth into the unknown, ready to get to know the unknown. He smiled, that was well put. Even though the world looked like hell around him, he felt kind of chipper.  
He assembled the machine as always, but this time there was a hitch. The claws appeared right before the enormous Maxwell head could laugh at him, and they tore it open at the seams. Wilson stepped back, his spear raised. ‘What do you want!’  
The shadow man loomed over him with all his impossible height, holding the Maxwell cranium up and tossing it to the side. It screeched at him, a sound that made Wilson curl up and protect his ears. Then the figure threw back its arms and stayed there, chest exposed, head to one side: waiting.  
Wilson frowned, feeling silly for voicing his idea. ‘You uh, you want me to kill you?’ The shadow stayed like it was. Wilson raised his spear and came closer. He held up his arm, ready to strike, when a second shadow claw reached up through the earth and took his arm in a powerful grip, taking his swing all the wall through. The shadow creature wailed as they cut it in half. Wilson shook himself free with a cry, trying to rid himself of the sudden pain in his bones.  
Where the creature had died a kind of portal waited for him, a tear in the world. All he could see beyond was darkness. ‘This is it.’ He slipped through holding a torch and the portal closed behind him.

Wilson stood stock still. ‘It made a mistake, a mistake, a mistake.’ He tried not to move as the shadows slid by over the piles of bones stacked high around him. A hot wave of stale air blew into his face. It felt like the breath of a great beast somewhere far off. Like he was in its stomach while it slept. He shivered, gripping the torch. The darkness lay deep around him, it felt like it had weight, like it could feel him back.  
‘Go on,’ he whispered, ‘you’re almost there.’  
Wilson looked for the portal, but it had vanished. And the bones, so many bones. They looked different from the ones that Maxwell had conjured up to intimidate him. Different from the failed survivors lying around the world. Those had looked clean, like props almost. They dropped loot when you smashed them with a hammer. The bones here had bits of dried skin stuck to them, hair. Some were the color of aged blood and others so new they shone. And the shadows fed on them. He saw one suck on the marrow, another chewing smaller bones to pieces. If he tried a hammer on these, all he’d get would be dust and unwanted attention.

The smell. Wilson pressed his hand to his mouth and nose. It smelled like rot and damp, Wilson felt it stick to his skin and knew he’d be tasting it for a while.  
He took his first steps and felt his boots sink into the soil. When he brought his boot to the torch, it glistened red with gore. He put his boot back down and got going.  
Closing his eyes brought a map of complete darkness to his mind. No landmarks. Only one tiny Wilson in a land of nothing. And not all the bones were human. Some looked strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place what they were. Until one of the bloated shadows slunk down over what seemed to be its own skeleton. Curiouser and curiouser.  
Wilson clambered up on a bone pile to see what lay ahead, only his torch wouldn’t go that far. It showed him the bones stacked around him, white in stark contrast to the darkness, and nothing more.

He tried making a campfire to rest, but it wouldn’t stay up; it just sank between the bones, taking the light with it. Wilson bit his lip.  
What if this wasn’t part of the plan? Did Maxwell know he was here?  
Wilson rubbed his face. This felt like it was exactly what he wanted, a look behind the show. Here the living pieces of the world went to die and here they stayed dead.  
‘Maxwell?’ His voice didn’t travel further than the light, but the shadows looked up as if noticing him for the first time. That moment his torch burned out, and the darkness flooded in. It took a second to grab a fresh one, then the light drove them back with a rush and Wilson screamed at what it revealed.  
The shadows crowded round with their mouths opened wide. Their throats were a red cavern of flesh rimmed by sharp teeth that shone in the light. They were real! They wavered on the edge of the light, like deep-sea creatures at home in the dark. The sight made him cry; it set his vision in tunnel mode, and his legs moved by themselves. He walked, holding up his torch, through the dark, and he got to walk away.  
Wilson wiped his eyes. ‘I’m not dead yet.’ Tears still blurred his vision. If he didn’t look where he was going his feet threatened to send him sliding down the bone pile. But he held onto himself until the shaking passed. ‘I’m alive.’  
What if I run out of torches?  
He slapped his own face for the thought. ‘I’ll find a way. I’ll get us through.’  
He knew They were following him, he could hear the subtle way they slid over the bones. He must look like a juicy meal to them, crawling over their dirty dishes. Where had he ended up? How long had he stumbled on like this? Sometimes he saw a light in the corner of his eye, but when he looked straight on he couldn’t see.  
Wilson had an idea. He gritted his teeth because it involved putting out the torch. He knelt, his hands grasping the light as if praying for him to hold on.

‘Please, please,’ he whispered. ‘Keep the light on. I’m scared.’  
Wilson smiled to be talking to himself like this. ‘It’s okay. We will be okay. Did I ever let us down? Did I ever give up and not get up? I keep getting up, I keep fighting on, and I need you to believe in me.’  
He extinguished the torch and stood up.  
A rush of fear threatened to make him run, but he held his hand and he scanned the darkness.  
There! In the distance, a flickering light, unhindered by the glare of his torch. Then the mouths were on him. Wilson wrenched the torch from his inventory, sending the shadows away.  
He wheezed, shaking from the sudden cold. He grabbed his chest, struggling to breathe.  
But he had his direction.

Wilson clambered on, past an enormous skeleton with a singular eyehole. Past bones too large to even envision in flesh. These looked ancient, almost like stone. How old was this place? How long had Maxwell been down here?  
But there was an end to the pile, unexpectedly. Wilson slid down before he knew what was going on. He pushed his back into the bones until something halted his clamoring descent.  
When the dust had settled around him, he saw a single red rose stand out at him from the shards. He picked it and felt the slight raise to his sanity, even though the thorns drew blood. Wilson hunched in on himself and brought the flower to his forehead. ‘Wilson and Charlie, on their coconut-’ His voice cracked, but he sang on. ‘Happily sailing, and they worry not.’ Then he noticed he was holding the rose, it hadn’t turned into petals as soon as he picked it.  
‘I’m not sure what will happen when I find him,’ he said. ‘But I’m happy I got to meet you.’ He put the rose down on the bones and climbed down the rest of the way.

The rose sank, and it kept sinking downwards. Down through layers of past misery and death, down through a solid layer of darkness, and it dropped into a cage made of bones.  
Charlie opened her eyes, but everything was blurry. She tried to move, but something held her up. Then she felt the pain and let out a scream. She trashed until whatever was holding her gave way and she fell on the bottom of the cage.  
She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, her body shook and groaned, spilling blood that she dripped down on tiles far below. Something grabbed her arm, something pale from above. Charlie let out a strangled cry, pulling free with more force than she thought she had in her. It slunk away.  
The echoes of her scream slunk far away, and a cold draft made her shiver.  
Charlie rubbed her eyes, rocking back and forth until the blurriness gave way to sight. Someone had put her in a cage, hung up in a cavernous room. As she looked the tiles glowed red; a pulsating, evil light in the darkness. Charlie gripped the bars until her knuckles stood out white. Her breathing came too fast, bringing a wave of dizziness.  
Did one of Maxy’s parties go bad again? She curled up on herself. Why didn’t I run? Is the show over? Did he find my bags? Winona would find her, she would come looking for her after she didn’t show up to their appointment. Her sister was someone that she could count on, always. Her restless hand brushed past something lying next to her. Charlie gripped it, gasping as the thorns pierced her fingers.  
A single red rose. Her hand looked so small, so thin and cold. She dropped the rose, feeling her own clammy forehead. I’m hurt.  
This isn’t our basement. The bones of the cage felt hard and real around her. The red glow pulsed with painful intensity. Something was lying on the floor beneath her. Charlie shook as she looked down. An enormous skeleton, the body of a strange animal, and the head of a goat. Shadows pooled around it. They seemed to crawl over it with a will of their own. She breathed faster and faster until black spots crowded the edges of her vision.  
‘It can’t be real. It’s not real!’ She shook her head, pressing her eyes shut. ‘It’s not real. I’m asleep. I’m asleep somewhere!’ A shadow eased down from the bars above, pressing down on her shoulder.

Wilson stepped onto a marble floor. When he looked back, there was only darkness behind him. That was that, then. The light he’d been following turned out to a white flame on top of a stone pillar. The place he was in now didn’t feel right. It didn’t have a ceiling, or walls, just endless rows of pillars that fired up when he walked by. A little while ahead there was even a carpet, a luxury he’d long forgotten about. Wilson touched it. It was strange how you took things for granted when you had them. Health, a home, not being hunted for your life and soul through a nightmare world. He stood, dusting his jacket off, and rearranging his hair. Did he look okay? Wilson rolled his eyes. Really?  
On his way through the maze, he found a display of science machines. Some of them he hadn’t built before but kept going.  
‘I’m going away, remember, that doesn’t matter anymore.’ He found crock pots too. There was even a field of drying racks. It all felt very empty and stale. It didn’t seem likely that Maxwell would entertain any guests here.  
His torch went out, and there wasn’t another one in his inventory. But the pillar fires lined every hallway, giving ample light, and walking here was all he had to do.  
The music was so familiar that he didn’t notice it at first. Wilson had been following it for a while when he stopped to listen. That’s it! He’s here! He swallowed, rubbing his hands onto his pant’s legs. What was he going to say? Did he need to be witty? Or fly in a rage? He followed the music until the pillar spread out further, making room for something in the distance. Someone in the distance.

As Wilson jogged closer, it was an enormous room. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Then he was there.  
The music played between them, a jaunty tune, tinny and unfit for the occasion. Wilson stared at the figure on the throne, a shackled, distorted man. But it was still Maxwell.  
‘Not what you expected?’ the man asked. Maxwell’s voice was labored, not used to speaking, and he looked so tired.  
Wilson glared at an old gramophone, playing the music. He went to turn it off, almost toppling it over in his unsteady hands.  
Maxwell let out a sigh. ‘Thank you, I’ve been listening to that song for an eternity.’  
Wilson smirked, flipping the music back on.  
Maxwell’s tired eyes looked into his for the first time. There was a hint of mirth in them, ‘I suppose I deserve that.’  
Wilson clasped his hands in front of his chest, leaning back and forth on his heels. I am not prepared for this. He took out his spear, then put it away again.  
‘You’re here earlier than I expected,’ the man said.  
Wilson rubbed his chin. ‘I uh, I took a shortcut. I think.’ Then his eye caught sight of a familiar shade of orange. ‘Chester!’ he fell to his knees, unwinding his dog from the shadows and hugging him close. He got his face licked. He pressed his face into the soft fur. ‘Did you miss me? Are you the goodest boy? Whosabaybaygooboy?’

Maxwell rolled his eyes but stayed hunched over and tired-looking.

When Wilson stood, all feelings of revenge had left him, if they had still been there at all. It felt impossible to murder someone that looked so… broken down, like Maxwell. It also felt wrong to murder in front of Chester.  
He took a step back to give himself room to think. Chester jumped up and down at his heels.  
He searched the area around the throne. ‘So, what are we going to do, what’s your plan, Maxy?’ There was a place to stick the radio, like when he assembled the machines, but it looked more like a dark lock, in the same shade as the throne. Wilson held his radio stick up, and a question jumped into his mind. “Will you take pity?”  
‘I guess you want me to set you free,’ he said. Maxwell kept quiet.  
‘This is where I find out,’ Wilson said. It felt like pulling the lever all over again, but he wasn’t afraid. He wanted to do this, his body and mind. ‘I pity you.’ And he placed the radio on a stick, in the lock. A shudder went through the world.  
Wilson saw the shackles holding Maxwell in place spring free. Maxwell stood, he stretched with a great sigh of relief, then he cast a shadow around himself, and into the throne.  
Wilson raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s it?’ He folded his arms. ‘Is this your plan in action?’  
The world seemed to wait for something, even the music stopped. Then two shadow arms tore up through the ground and grabbed Wilson. But they could not pull him down.  
Wilson squirmed, the grip was different, hesitant, like it was careful with him.

Maxwell walked over to him, placing his hands into the shadows. Then he pulled something out of them and into himself. Wilson saw his posture improve, his skin spring back to how he knew the face to be. Then it started to hurt. He gasped as the cold set it. ‘Max!’  
Maxwell let go with an effort.  
Wilson breathed fast, he felt dizzy.  
Maxwell looked down with pursed lips. He thumbed a new streak of grey hair on Wilson’s temple. ‘Sorry, I think I took a little too much.’ He sounded healthier, too.

From the surrounding shadows, a crowd appeared.  
Maxwell spread out his arms, standing tall. ‘What’s wrong, why the long faces? Expected me to die? To crumble to dust at your pleasure?’ He laughed and laughed as they stumbled over each other to see.  
Maxwell wiped a tear from his eye. ‘Oh, how I’ll think of this moment!’  
They came for him, but Maxwell held out his hand, twisting the other in the air. The throne shuddered and the hands holding Wilson trembled with it. Wilson gritted his teeth against the strain. He was acutely aware of the throne, and it seemed to be aware of him.  
He blinked, It feels like I’m supposed to be on it.  
‘Wilson,’ Maxwell tapped the side of his face. ‘Hey? Are you here?’  
Wilson nodded, the face above swam in and out of focus.  
‘Remember how I said that it would hurt?’  
Wilson could only nod. He really wasn’t feeling well.  
‘It will only hurt for as long your new subjects will let it go on.’  
Wilson blinked the sweat from his eyes. ‘What?’  
The throne creaked, its chains slashing the air, searching for their new ruler. Wilson let out a groan. It was difficult to breathe, even though the hands were only holding him up. Then they tried to pull him down into the floor again. Something was preventing it.  
A ripple of unrest swept through the onlookers, each shadow making a slight noise that rang up like a single cry.  
Maxwell placed a hand to his ear. ‘Beautiful music! You know what I want, don’t play dumb.’  
They came for him again, this time it was Wilson’s scream that stopped them.  
Maxwell felt a rush of fear. He didn’t let it show. He even looked directly at Wilson. He wished he’d had longer to prepare, to distance himself more. But it was happening. It was happening now.  
He held up his hand at Wilson, a young man suspended in the air and struggling. He gestured at the throne, seething and trying to keep its shape. He was in complete control. ‘Is this really necessary?’ he asked the crowd. It felt good to be standing. To talk down at Them. To see them confused.

Wilson gasped. As a child, he had tried to get the hinges out of the living room door. He’d propped a stuffed toy up to keep it open, then pried his fingers into the gap. His nanny didn’t see him there, as she walked by and snatched the toy, then slammed the door shut.  
Wilson was transported back to that finger breaking moment, when that same pain clamped down across his body. It focused on his left shoulder.  
His heartbeat raced, his eyes clamping shut with the growing pressure, sweat running down his skin. Why wasn’t he afraid? Why hadn’t his body warned him like before? It seemed so obvious now. He’d fallen in love with Maxwell like a fool and Maxwell didn’t love him back.  
Behind him, the throne splintered. Excruciatingly slow, the grinding pain snipped through the ligaments of his shoulder, with the loud internal pop of breaking gristle.  
A thought rang out through the sound of his screaming, and the breaking throne. I’m the weak one. She was speaking to me. I’m being abandoned. Then a vessel burst and something fell away from his body.

Charlie’s eyes shot wide open. ‘Wilson!’ The screams! God! He was somewhere close and being tortured. It drove her into a frenzy. She threw herself against the cage until it gave way, until she broke its bones and fell onto the floor below. She’d missed the hideous skeleton, but when she held up her arm there was a bone sticking out.  
Her voice was a monotone, her eyelids drooping. ‘That’s not mine,’ she said, pulling the splinter of the cage out and releasing a stream of blood. ‘Heh.’  
Her hand curled around the sharp splinter, holding it like a knife, and she stumbled towards the screaming. She fell onto stone stairs in the dark, pushing herself back up. The stones lit up red where she walked, going up forever.  
Charlie collapsed suddenly, her breathing low and heavy. She rested her head on the step she couldn’t take anymore, closing her eyes as the cold seeped in. ‘Maxwell. Stop. Stop.’  
And the screaming stopped. You could only scream for so long until you passed out.  
Charlie groaned, pushing herself up one last time. There was another sound, footsteps. Footsteps coming up the stairs. She saw something approach in the red glow, and it sent her upright and running, then crawling with what she had left to get away.

Maxwell breathed hard, standing hunched over and holding his stomach. He’d torn a piece of himself out and it had fled to Wilson. The shadow was keeping him from bleeding out, dark hands pressed to his shoulder, pressing its body close. His goddamn arm had come off. What a mess.

Just don’t look, leave it behind you when you go. Don’t look. The screams were still there, even though Wilson hung there unconscious. So much blood. Chester was yapping at a constant pitch. Maxwell pressed his fists to his eyes. Don’t look! Don’t think.  
The throne was still standing, but it wouldn’t last much longer under the strain. It threw a splinter onto the carpet and the room shook, dropping stones from the unseen ceiling, sending out tremors into the world. Let it all burn down.  
The shadows shot about, tearing each other to pieces, going insane.  
Maxwell tried to enjoy it, but it didn’t taste like a victory anymore. He made the shadow at Wilson’s side shut up the dog.  
The watcher stepped out of the darkness and looked down at him. There he was. Maxwell stared back. ‘Open up your portal. Then you can have your new victim and everything goes back to normal.’  
Wilson moaned something out of deep unconsciousness. ‘NOW!’ Maxwell shouted, his eyes wide. ‘He will die and I’m not hopping back on the throne. Your world is ending while you wait.’  
The watcher held out a stick-thin arm and tore a hole in the air. Maxwell gasped. He couldn’t believe it. There was the house. He could see right into the living room between a thin veil of shadow. The house he’d taken Wilson from. He almost called back to him, Wilson, look, it’s your house. No. This was HIS house, he’d bought it with his own money back in the day. All of his stuff was still in the attic, covered with sheets and waiting.

Wilson woke up screaming as the throne broke one of its legs. It twisted his foot until the ankle was facing the wrong way.  
Maxwell blocked off his ears to it. He peeled off another shadow of himself, the last he had, and sent it through the portal. He yelled at it over the sounds of torture. ‘Bring me my book, pull the lever!’  
The screaming died and Maxwell spun round. Wilson was still breathing, but his voice had given out. He averted his gaze from the horror-stricken face. Almost. His shadow was coming back with his book in hand. It stepped onto the lines.  
‘Maxwell!’  
Maxwell froze, then turned. A woman came staggering into the light, her dark hair stuck to her corpse-pale face, her eyes staring out of deep shadows underneath her eyes. She looked like she had already died, but had risen. A rose stuck out from the rest of her, a bright red bloom on her shoulder.  
The watcher leaned in and gave him back a memory.  
Maxwell‘s mouth fell open as he saw her standing on the stage beside him, that fateful night. She’d looked uneasy, as always, during the hours leading up to the show. Probably hiding something. Then he heard her scream as the shadows dragged her down. He’d screamed her name then. He said it now. ‘Charlie, I- I thought you died.’  
Charlie fell on her knees next to Wilson, getting her dress soaked with his blood. Her voice shook as she tried to pull him free. ‘What are you doing? Maxwell, did you go insane?’  
Back at the house, his shadow pulled the lever. The portal sprang to life in front of him, opening with a glow around it. He could step right through and be free.  
Charlie’s eyes rolled back into her skull and they filled with darkness.  
Her voice twisted as her face changed. ‘You’re leaving us to die in your basement?’ She became taller, half-formed by glistening shadows.

Maxwell heard a whimper leave his lips and clamped a hand over them. What had this world done to her? Had she been here all this time? She was holding something that looked like a knife, towering over him.

Charlie looked up at the monster, a demon that had stolen her face. It held a weapon and went for Maxwell. She shrieked, throwing out her arms to stop it. ‘Don’t hurt him!’  
The monster glared back at her like she was worth less than garbage, then stabbed her in the heart.

Maxwell blinked, and it had happened. Charlie sat with her legs out long beside her, a look of pale dread on her face. Her hands quivered over the piece of bone sticking out of her chest.  
His voice shook. ‘How? What?’  
She cried, a childlike, hiccuping sound that made her shoulders tremble. ‘I want my sister! She has to fix this. I need my sister.’ She sagged, her voice getting weaker, leaning on her hands as the blood dripped down. She looked up at someone that wasn’t there and shook her head. ‘I can’t, it hurts!’

Wilson struggled to look. Charlie! He closed his eyes, he himself very close to death, and pulled at the weight that dragged him down. He pulled up. Lowering himself towards the throne.

Maxwell tripped and did a little side-step to balance himself. Wilson tore at the bonds already claiming him. Their eyes met and Wilson, pale as death and straining to hold on to life, said; ‘Maxwell, I need you, to fuck off.’

Maxwell looked at his shadow self, already through the portal. It held up his book and waved at him. He looked at Wilson, tearing himself down through the floor with one arm. He looked at Charlie, sitting too still. Did she rather stab herself than hurt him? He had forgotten her. Even now he could see something cling to her, a black shape of himself that he’d banished. It looked like the shadows standing next to Wilson, crying silently.

Two pieces of himself, gone; a guilt free ticket out of here.

Then why was he still here? Why watch them get hurt beyond belief, torn apart and bleeding. Dying. His chest tightened. Dying.  
He did terrible things to them, used them how he wanted. Why were they willing to just take it and die? Why didn’t they stop him? What could be more horrible than this? To be so helpless that you had to die.  
Wilson let out a wail and Maxwell let go as if it had struck him. Wilson slipped into the ground and a tension snapped out of the room. The throne stood up straight.  
The portal was still there but Maxwell couldn’t move. He stared down at his feet, his arms at his sides. When the Watcher leaned in and closed it for him, he still couldn’t think of what to do. It threw its arms around him, lifting him up. Maxwell breathed in fast. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!’ It ate him.

Wilson emerged on the throne, his eyes closed and his face grim in the dark. He had his arm back, knitted to his shoulder by shadowy stitches. He breathed in, and a bright light sprang to life from above. A shift happened to the room, sending it down, making a pit of concentric stairs going down to a stage. An arena to look down on with a clean, white table at its center.

The shadows slipped in from everywhere, his eager audience taking their seats on the stairs.  
Wilson found his voice, and it came out clear and certain. He knew everything about what would happen. ‘Welcome to today’s operation.’ A tall shadow shuffled into view beside the table. It wore a white mask, and it had tied back its unruly hair. It carried Charlie in its arms and placed her down on the white cloth.

Wilson nodded, and a second table appeared. ‘What separates humanity from the animal kingdom but an understanding of itself? A wolf, when struck, will lick its paw and when sepsis sets in, it has not even an understanding of its death. But WE can look underneath the skin to understand the beating heart, and even though we cannot save it from itself, we can preserve it to keep on beating. To suffer on. To learn.’ Wilson held out his arm, as far as the shackle would let it, and made a figure appear on the table next to Charlie’s. First the bones, then veins and nerves. Blood flowed from his wrist and he closed his eyes, ‘Nothing of significance is ever gained without sacrifice. Then it was done, his creation; a raw puppet lying still. A moment he was familiar with.  
A smile crept up Wilson’s face. ‘Live,‘ he said, and the creation veered into motion. It writhed, a horror that tied to speak with no voice, eyes blinking without sight. It looked a lot like him. The shadows went wild, Wilson nodded at their praise. Then he nodded at the Watcher.  
Charlie lay still as the shadow pulled the bone from her heart and plunged it into the monster next to her. Then meat-man, so new to living, died, and as it bled out, Charlie gasped back to life.  
Wilson sat back, his arm already healed. ‘Science and magic are the same, if taken far enough.’

Charlie kept her eyes closed. A bright light shone down at her, blinding out the surroundings. She shivered. ‘Wilson?’ A rush of air took away the brightness, and she fell onto her knees on smooth stone.  
When she looked up, Wilson sat on a throne in front of her. The surrounding room loomed large and dark. Empty, no signs of blood or suffering. She touched her chest, frowning when her fingers found no trace of injury. She looked back at Wilson, noticing the restraints. ‘What happened to us?’  
‘Maxwell.’  
Charlie nodded to herself. She sat up, holding her knees. ‘Where is he now?’  
‘He left us.’  
She pressed her hands to her face, making a fist and hitting the floor. ‘He damned us here!’ Her eyes sought him out again, the barest trace of a smile on her lips. ‘You, and him…’  
Wilson chuckled, a dry and humorless sound. ‘Yes.’  
She came a little closer, not ready to stand just yet. ‘This isn’t the world.’ She frowned, pressing her eyes shut. ‘They dragged me down and… ‘ she waved her hands, struggling to find words that wouldn’t make her voice break. ‘Years and years of being lost.’ When she looked at him again her eyes were full of tears. ‘Thank you for finding me.’  
Wilson let out a sigh. ‘Now we’re both lost.’  
‘Together.’  
He smiled, and it looked a little better. ‘You came to rescue me, I believe?’  
She nodded, pressing her chin to her knees and eyeing the surrounding darkness. ‘What was he doing to you?’  
‘I don’t know anymore. I was supposed to sit here and be in charge after him, and he stopped that, or halted it. Tore my arm off.’  
‘I got stabbed.’  
‘Son of a bitch.’  
‘Bastard.’  
Charlie laughed, and it made Wilson laugh. The sounds of happiness played a jarring note in the room. It made the gramophone start up and startle them into silence.  
Charlie went to turn it off. She wiped her eyes. ‘So we’re stuck down here?’  
He nodded, grave again. ‘There is a world up there. It’s harsh and terrible, but there’s light and trees, and food. I don’t know if I can send you up. I don’t know how any of this works. I don’t know how to take us back.’  
Charlie stood still, chin to on her chest.  
‘Charlie?’  
She looked up and Wilson groaned when her eyes were dark.  
‘I know things,’ Charlie said, her voice distorted. She reached for him with claw-like hands, then shook her head and slapped her cheek. Charlie wrestled herself onto the floor. Breathing hard.  
She looked at him with panic-stricken eyes. ‘It came back! Did you see it?’  
Wilson looked away, but there was no room for any lies where they were. ‘That was you.’  
‘Wilson!’  
‘It’s true. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s a part of you. Maybe you got stuck down here for too long, maybe something inside you twisted together with the darkness of this place.  
She looked hurt, but he needed to speak. ‘When you first met me you made me drop my torch to let the shadows eat me. When you got here to save me, you looked ready to kill.’ Her eyes were hard and unreadable. Wilson sighed. ‘You stopped yourself.’  
She swallowed, holding herself. ‘He deserved to die.’  
Wilson nodded. ‘But you didn’t kill him.’  
Charlie sat down. ‘No.’  
‘Do you still love him?’  
She made a face. ‘No.’ Her eyes narrowed at him, ‘You?’  
‘No. I don’t know.’  
She folded her arms. ‘Well, we have plenty of time to talk about it. Forever, it seems.’  
‘Finally, some peace and quiet.’  
‘But without coconuts, what does it even matter?’  
Wilson made a coconut fall down out of the dark. It cracked open into two perfect halves. Charlie stared at them, then looked up at Wilson with her mouth open. ‘You can do that?’  
He shrugged. ‘It looks like it.’  
‘Can you make a way out, did you try?’  
Wilson closed his eyes, looking for answers.

Charlie rocked back and forth. ‘I want to go home. I don’t want to stay trapped here in the dark.’ Wilson seemed busy and while it distracted him, the shadows moved. Charlie crept back to the throne, holding onto it, to the small light that shone there. It looked safe. A place of power. She sighed. No.  
‘Why not?’ A distorted voice asked.  
Charlie made a sound, making herself small.  
‘You should be in charge,’ the voice said. It came from somewhere in the shadows. She glanced up at Wilson. He still sat there lost in thought.  
She made a fist at the darkness. ‘I’ll fight you.’ The face appeared in front of her. So hideous! Charlie shrieked as she saw her own eyes bleed out of a deformed skull. ‘Go away!’  
Suddenly the face healed up, looking like her pretty self again. Smooth skin, glossy hair. Charlie stared at it.  
‘We don’t have to fight,’ the pretty face said, and it smiled.  
Charlie pushed herself back. ‘You’re not me!’  
‘I kept you safe.’  
The twanging of threads rang out in the dark. Charlie felt something tighten around her wrist, a metal coil drawing blood. It dragged her away into the dark. She screamed. ‘No! Wilson!’  
The pretty version of herself stepped in, gripping the thread and biting it. This not-Charlie person spat out blood and Charlie was free. Charlie stumbled back to the throne, cradling her wrist.  
‘Look at him,’ the not-Charlie said, pointing at Wilson. ‘Hasn’t he suffered enough?’  
‘I’m not listening to you. Wilson!’  
‘He’s desperate. Searching for a way out,’ the other Charlie pouted. ‘He’s fought so hard and so long and now he will be stuck here, no match against the shadows like we are.’  
‘Who are you?’  
Pretty Charlie leaned in close. ‘I’m you, but stronger.’  
‘You’re. Not. me.’  
‘I know everything about you, ask me anything.’  
Charlie folded her arms, keeping Wilson in her sight. ‘Tell me something.’ The other Charlie leaned in, whispering into her ear. Charlie gasped, she clamped a hand to her mouth and stepped back, shaking her head.’  
‘Don’t look at me like that. I’ll tell no one.’ The other Charlie shrugged. ‘And I know the way out.’  
Charlie sat down with her back to the specter. She leaned against Wilson’s knee. He looked tired. And worried.  
She bit her lip. ‘What do you know?’  
When she turned to the other Charlie, she was still there, looking pretty and agreeable. Looking like a friend. Not-Charlie reached behind her and held out a blueprint. ‘It’s all on here.’  
‘Toss it.’  
The other Charlie spread out her arms. ‘Give me a hug?’  
‘No way in hell.’  
Other Charlie laughed. ‘I won’t push it. Here.’ And she tossed it over. Charlie caught it, pressing it to her heart to not drop it.  
‘I can’t,’ Wilson said. He breathed in deep. ‘I checked everywhere, but it’s so vast, so dark.’  
‘I found this,’ Charlie said, holding out the blueprint.  
Wilson snatched it from her hand. ‘That’s.. The machine!’  
‘Is it useful?’  
Wilson guffawed. ‘How did you find this! It’s what got me here! If I can build it on this side, I can get us out!’ He tried to get up to pace, then sagged as the restraints kept him in place. But he didn’t seem as depressed as before. ‘Maybe Maxwell got the idea from this drawing. This IS it! All we need is the materials, I can find this above. Most of it. Well, not I… Maybe you can go out to get them? Do you know how to build?’

Charlie shook her head. ‘But you can,’ she said.  
Wilson wasn’t listening. He was studying the blueprint. ‘It needs a lot of gold… is that marble? Probably could be substituted with stone. There’s plenty of that down here. But not gold...’

Charlie had stepped back to the shadow line. ‘See?’ the voice said, it even sounded normal now. ‘Doesn’t Wilson look better when he’s planning to build? He’s good at that. He’s fantastic at building useful machines. You’re better at other things.’  
‘That is true.’ Charlie rubbed the line across her heart, where a scar should be. ‘He looked so upset when he couldn’t get up.’  
‘I wouldn’t bind you to the throne like that,’ the voice said. It sounded a little different again. Charlie hopped back into the light. ‘Wilson, is it very dangerous up there?’  
Wilson nodded, eyes on the drawing. ‘Yes. You’ll need a tentacle spear, and armor. Oh, and can you see a map in your mind when you close your eyes? It helps me a lot with not getting lost. Prepare to die a few times, it hurts every time but you’ll get used to it. Maybe. Just try to keep dying to a minimum.’  
Charlie looked back and the other Charlie. That Charlie smiled at her, opening her arms wide.  
‘I don’t know,’ she told Wilson. ‘I think you should go.’  
Wilson pulled himself away from the blueprint. Charlie was standing in darkness. He made the light touch her and for a moment he glimpsed something big, standing behind her.  
‘Charlie?’  
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know how to do all those things. You do.’  
He sighed. ‘Well, if you want the throne so much go ahead and take it.’  
She smiled, her eyes going dark. ‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Her arm moved up with a flash of silver and a shadow claw lifted him, straining with the chains of the throne, fighting for his limbs.  
Wilson gritted his teeth. Not again! I can’t survive it again.  
A red light flashed around him, the flashes stabbing the chains.  
‘Don’t worry, Wilson!’ Charlie yelled up, her arms raised at him. ‘I’ll catch you!’  
He threw his head back as the current moved through him, but it didn’t hurt, it only drained him of any strength he had.

The red light freed him, making the throne stand still and lowering him down. Charlie caught him, guiding him onto the floor with her. She smoothed a hand across his brow while he lay there exhausted in her arms. She tucked the blueprint into his collar and smiled, her eyes back to normal. ‘Please build the machine,’ she said, ‘free us. I’ll try to keep the shadows back. I think I can find those things that you need.’

He nodded, his eyes falling shut. She stepped back as a portal opened up around him, stepped right into the waiting arms of herself.

Charlie pushed herself free while Wilson floated down. Something orange ran out from under the throne and jumped after him. Then it closed on her.  
Her heartbeat sped up, and she pressed a hand to her heart. What did I just do?  
The throne had gone, and she stood alone in a ring of bright red light.  
‘Charlie?’ the voice asked. ‘What’s wrong?’  
Charlie shook her head. She fell to her knees.  
The voice tutted. ‘That’s not right. Don’t you want to sit on the throne?’  
‘No.’  
‘It’s beautiful, it suits you just fine.’  
Something tugged at her arm, and she was standing up. Charlie rubbed her wrist, but there was nothing there. ‘Here,’ the voice said, and a red light shone on a beautiful red and black chair, high above.  
She shook her head.  
‘It will be better once you sit down,’ the voice said. Another tug on her wrist and she saw something glitter. A bracelet? A silver thread. She smiled, despite herself. This deal came with strings attached. The thread pulled her up, gentle but firm.  
‘What are you thinking in that pretty head of ours?’ The voice guided her steps, taking her up higher. And she sat down. It felt better. A sense of calm spread out from her and into the chair and into the world. ‘Let’s wait.’ Did she say that? Or was it the voice? It was too much to think about for the moment. She sighed, at ease, calm.

  
Epilogue

The arrow went through the rabbit’s eye, sending it sailing through the snow. Wilson took it with him in his stride, his winter boots leaving deep tracks. The night was near and there was a fire to make. He didn’t think much these days, his mind always on the blueprint he carried with him. This was the only thing he could be certain about. He scratched his beard. No need for anything else. Chester followed, close by and useful.

A lonely figure stumbled on Wilson’s tracks in the snow. They put their hands onto their hips, then looked at the distant speck of light in the horizon. Their face was painted white, with two red specks for cheeks, and when they shivered it was impossible to tell if it was deliberate, or pretend. They headed for the campfire.

A man woke up in a flower field. He frowned at the sky and the trees. There was something hauntingly familiar about all of it. Maxwell lifted himself on his elbows. He knew there was somewhere he was supposed to be. A show? His clothes looked very dapper, not to mention his shoes. ‘I’m a magician,’ he knew it the moment he said it.

He walked a while and knuckled his forehead. There were memories in there he couldn’t reach, as if covered by a cloth, nothing but contours. A feeling of warmth spread through him. He knew with absolute certainty that there were people that loved him. He could almost see them, but not quite. ‘I love them too,’ he said to the world. It was easy to say because there wasn’t much else in him to confuse the feeling in his chest. He felt empty besides feeling loved. Like there was more of him missing than there was here, walking around in a fancy suit. But it was an enjoyable day, and he didn’t feel like feeling down. ‘I need to find the people I love.’ They would remind him of the rest. He was sure they would.

He found someone else almost immediately. A small shape, wrapped up in a white-hooded sweater.  
There was something off about them, maybe because they were sitting against a grave and staring into a glowstone. Maxwell approached them regardless.   
He cleared his throat. ‘Hello, little boy?’  
The boy looked up and Maxwell stared into a dark, hairy face that blinked at him with eight white eyes. Maxwell found this odd, but he didn’t want to be rude to a child. ‘Did you see someone else around here?’  
The boy stared at him, then went back to staring at the stone.  
Maxwell felt a surge of frustration, but he shook it off. ‘That could damage your eyes, you know.’  
‘Okay, boomer.’  
Maxwell gaped down at the boy. He fumed, but he would rather die than admit he didn’t know what the child had just called him. He turned away and started walking.  
He heard footsteps run up behind him, and then the boy was there. ‘You tricked me!’  
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s unlikely. I never met you before. Maybe you saw one of my shows, then it’s likely. I’m a magici-’  
The boy kicked him in the shin before he could end his sentence.  
‘Ow!’ It kicked him again. ‘Stop that!’  
‘You did trick me! You got me killed, you jerk!’  
Maxwell stepped away. He placed a hand on the kid’s head, keeping him at a distance with ease. ‘I would never endanger a child!’  
‘Liar!’  
‘Look, please stop attacking me so we can talk. Are you here alone?’  
‘Liar!’  
Maxwell rolled his eyes. ‘If you won’t listen, I’ll just have to ignore you.’  
‘That’s not a threat.’  
‘I don’t want to threaten you!’  
The child threw the glowstone at his shoulder. Maxwell cried out in pain and straightened up. ‘That’s it. I will be telling your parents about this.’  
‘You suck!’  
‘You can’t throw rocks at people, kid. It’s- stop throwing rocks at me!’  
Maxwell sat on a log, massaging his head, his face swollen and bruised. ‘Have you calmed down? Now that you have no more rocks to throw?’  
The child sat down across from him. ‘I got tired.’  
‘I’m not your enemy.’  
‘Liar!’  
‘Look, child. I’m just a man, trying to find my… the people I care about.’  
The kid frowned, shifting in the grass. ‘But you’re evil?’  
Maxwell folded his arms. ‘Would an evil man have people he loved?’  
‘I don’t know.’  
‘Nobody loves evil people, and they don’t love anyone back. What are you doing here? What’s your name?’  
The child held up another rock. ‘You put me here!’  
‘Fine. Throw your rocks.’ Maxwell opened his arms, closing his eyes.  
The child sighed. ‘It’s no fun when you’re like that. My name is Webber now, that’s our name.’  
‘I’m Maxwell.’  
‘I know.’  
Maxwell relaxed a little. ‘See, just sitting down to talk isn’t that hard. Maybe we can help each other.’  
Webber kicked out his legs. ‘I’m looking for my dad. He brought me back.’  
‘Then I’ll help you.’  
‘Why?’  
‘Because it’s the right thing to do. I can’t just leave here all alone.’  
‘You’re weird.’  
‘I’m a magician.’  
‘Whatever you think you think you are, I guess that’s what you’ll be.’  
Maxwell stood. ‘Then let’s go.’ Webber shrugged. He waited until Maxwell started walking, then followed at a distance.


	11. Getting started, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've planned everything out and I'm ready to go, here to bring you more people and Dramatic Things, for you to enjoy.   
> I hope you'll have fun reading this. If there is something to improve, drop me a comment. It makes a difference in quality of work, hopefully. 
> 
> I'll be adding tags when they apply! :D

Delicate snowfall made haloes shimmer around their torchlight. Because the night was quiet, their footsteps were the only sound in the forest. Wes didn’t know where to look. Everything sparkled and gleamed, a winter wonderland,it was beautiful. He swung his torch, doing a little side-step. Frowning, he paused. Something was different. He squinted through the fog his breath made in the air. Suddenly he was alone.  
Where was Wilson?  
With creaking sounds, the forest grew taller around him. Wes swallowed. A heaviness settled on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Eyes blinked awake that glowed orange in the night.  
He fled, but stumbled over his own feet and dropped the torch. Crashing sounds that droned on in his head, made him curl up into a shivering ball. This was the end.  
A light shone on him before the darkness could claim him.  
‘There you are.’ Steadying him by his shoulder, Wilson helped him up. He handed him back his torch and brushed the snow from his clothes.  
‘Don’t wander off, okay?’  
Wes nodded, clenching the torch in his shaking hands.  
Wes held up his torch high as they walked into the clearing. A cozy place sheltered by fir trees. Here, he had written his name in the snow. This was their base.  
He yawned. What had made this day so long? Building something strange on the field below couldn’t be that strenuous, could it? Maybe the days added up after a while.  
But now it was going to be dinnertime. He rubbed his hands together. Dinnertime was his favorite moment. 

As always, Wilson rekindled the firepit and prepared the food in their crock-pot.  
Sat down by the fire, Wes warmed his hands and let out a sigh.  
But they weren’t alone. A dog, an orange breed he didn’t recognise, walked around the campfire. Wherever Wilson went, it followed. It rested at the man’s feet, ears back and silent. Sometimes Wilson took something from its mouth. Or he stored something inside of it. It was a very useful breed.  
Clapping his hands, Wes took the plate of meatballs offered to him. He hoped the appreciation showed on his face. He smiled extra wide.  
Wilson sat without looking, his dark gaze lost staring into the flames. The firelight cast deep shadows on his bearded face. Greyed temples, that didn’t look right on the otherwise youthful frame, made Wes stare. 

The scientist placed a hand on his dog’s head, and he cleared his throat. ‘So, are we clear on what we must do tomorrow?’  
Wes did not understand, but he nodded with enthusiasm.  
‘We’re completing the machine,’ Wilson said. ‘I am going to explain to you again what we need to expect.’  
Wes leaned in, his eyes fixed on Wilson’s face. Listening was pleasant, and Wilson underlined what he said with hand gestures and firm looks. He settled in closer. This was it, they were living the good life!  
‘Five lichens,’ Wilson said, holding up his fingers, ‘then you take your spear.’  
Wes remembered his spear. He judged its sharpness with a finger. It was okay, as far as weapons went. But only okay.  
‘You got it?,’ Wilson fixed him with a look.  
Wes nodded, holding up the spear to the starlit sky.  
An icy breeze made the flames flicker, as Wilson studied him a moment longer. Then he got up. ‘Get some rest.’ He handed Wes a bedroll.  
Curious to see if Wilson wanted something else for his kindness, Wes loosened his neckerchief, leaning back on his elbows. But Wilson had turned and walked away. The mime’s eyebrows shot up at this. Wilson was a very nice man.  
After making sure the firepit burned safely, Wes settled in for the night. He smiled as drowsiness took him. The good life! 

When Wilson came back, the other man was asleep.  
He put a log on the flames and cooked food rations without active thought. With the mime’s appetite, he had to check the traps often. A thin smile crept up behind his beard. Well, not if they succeeded tomorrow. The smile faded, and he sat down.  
Rubbing his eyes, Wilson broke the logs apart. Pink embers shone through the ashes like rose petals. This meant the light would last until dawn, and he could sleep in relative safety.  
The gloom brought some relief. A painful pressure had built up behind his eyes, it often did these days. He sat there a while, his arms heavy at his side. Tomorrow. Just one more day to get through. 

When Wes woke up, Wilson was already up and awake. The man handed him meatballs for breakfast and they went on their way.  
At the edge of the field, something was coming together. Banging away at it with a hammer, Wilson consulted a blueprint at intervals. He took supplies from seven chests, lined up at the side. Wes remembered filling them up over several days. Was it going to be worth it?  
He stepped back to see. The contraction looked strange, some kind of archway made of wood and metal gears. What was it supposed to do?  
Wes noticed it had an eye on top of it. It noticed him right back, following him when he stepped to one side, then the other.  
Twiddling his thumbs, he tried to ignore its attention. Maybe juggling would help? He had rocks that came out of a place in his mind. Wilson had called it an Inventory. Wes frowned at this. Maybe he’d always had it, but never discovered it until now? It was anyone’s guess.  
‘Good,’ Wilson said at his shoulder, startling him. ‘You have the rocks.’  
Handing them over with a smile, Wes tried to make it look deliberate.  
Wilson pointed at the treeline. ‘Still need those logs, though.’  
With a salute, the mime marched off towards the forest, twirling an invisible baton.  
A groan escaped Wilson as he kneaded his forehead. But they did somehow assemble the machine before nightfall.

Looking at the finished archway, a shudder ran up his Wes’ spine. Maybe because it now had an arm attached to it. A claw, right next to that staring eyeball. A hum filled the crisp air, instilling the late afternoon with a sense of potential.  
Holding a lever, Wilson stood next to the machine. ‘Ready?’  
Wes nodded, but Wilson wasn’t looking at him. All the man’s attention was on the machine.  
The scientist took a deep breath. ‘Let’s hope it works this time.’ Then he pulled the lever.  
With a blinding flash, a lightning strike cut through the air, making a silhouette out of the man and his creation.  
Wes stumbled back, holding onto his spear.  
Wilson reached into his dog’s mouth and pulled out a handful of shadows. The moment he held them up, the archway grabbed them and stuffed the darkness into its eyeball. Wes pursed his lips at this. 

The archway shook, emitting a low groan that sent birds flying and rabbits running.  
‘So far so good,’ Wilson said.  
Nodding in optimistic agreement, Wes rubbed his chin.  
A bell chimed, and the machine groaned louder. Lightning sprang to life in the gate’s opening. A faint electric current that twisted and pulsed. Some of its gears turned.  
Wilson held out another hand of shadows. This time the machine threw a fit. The structure howled; a terrible screech of grinding metal and wood bent close to breaking-point.  
Bending over to escape the noise, Wes held his ears.  
Wilson gave him a shove, steadying him with his hands. ‘Be ready now, just like I told you. Here they come!’ 

And here they were, Wes gasped at the sight. Dark shapes crawled out of the forest. Shapes that hinted at teeth and fur and claws. An army of shadow creatures that twisted and twitched, their bodies dripping ink that seeped into the snow.  
He blinked, trying to make them go away.  
Wilson was saying something, but he couldn’t hear. No, not again!  
Wes stared up at the creature suddenly in front of him. The thing opened a cavernous mouth, releasing a damp cellar smell. Wes bit his thumb.  
Wilson hit the creature with a spiked spear, knocking it back into the snow. It writhed there in silence. Then Wilson smashed it, again and again, until it burst apart into black, shuddering pieces.  
‘Wes!’ Wilson shouted over the clamour from the archway.  
Wes gripped his spear tight. Another tall shape slid his way. Big talons dragged across the ground behind it.  
But… what if they were not what they seemed? He’d had this problem before: back in an alley-  
‘Kill it!’ Wilson yelled at him, waving his arms.  
Wes poked his spear straight through the shadow. It cringed in pain, then lunged back with frightening speed.  
Before it could slice across Wes’ face, Wilson struck the claw away. He killed without looking, his eyes on Wes. ‘Pick up the fuel!,’ he yelled. ‘Give it to the machine! Now! Go! Now!’  
Wes hopped to it, picking up shadows where they lay. It felt like holding little piles of nothing, but it felt familiar. He jiggled the dark substance in his gloved hands; like a water balloon!  
‘Wes!’ Wilson’s voice jumped an octave higher. He stood defending the machine, whacking away at the monsters, his eyes very wide. ‘The fuel! Hurry up with the fuel! Do you even listen!’ 

Tearing at the archway, the creatures ripped off gears and splintered the logs. Wison fought them off, but they came back just as quick.  
Wes ran up to the scene. The machine’s eye was closing, and the lightning slipped away into the ground.  
He thrust out his hands, offering the shadows. The hand snatched them up. This caused the electricity trapped within to flare back to life. High and clear, the bell chimed.  
‘Wes, g-’  
Wilson’s words were cut short by a shock wave from the archway. It pushed everyone back.

Dragging the mime out of a snowdrift, Wilson flung him back into the fight.  
‘This is it!’ he yelled over the noise. ‘It’s opening!’  
The machine screamed at a steady pitch, throwing the shadows into a renewed frenzy to destroy it.  
Wes patted himself down but couldn’t find his spear.  
‘Get them!’ Wilson handed him his club. ‘They’re destroying our only way out!’  
With those words, the scientist drew out a long sword from his inventory and held it up.  
Wes stared at this new weapon with an open mouth. Magnificent; black like the shadows surrounding them, with an oily sheen of audible sharpness. Dark flames coiled around it, dancing up Wilson’s arm and into his shoulder.  
Wilson ran at their enemy. Wes followed, eyes on the sword. .  
It dealt damage. It sliced through the monsters with ease, and they didn’t get back up afterwards. Wilson freed up a space around the machine with it. 

Lightning stabbed the frame, dislodging a sizable chunk as the archway shook with the strain. The sound was deafening.  
Wes attacked where he dared. He dashed out and picked up the dark pieces that he fed into the machine. Again and again, but it never seemed satisfied. There was a ready supply of fuel though; as the shadows crowded them. Wilson dispatched them with ease.  
The scientist seemed less tense, somehow. He smiled, and his eyes were very awake. The more he hacked and slashed, the wider that grin became.  
Nodding to himself, Wes smiled too. It was all about finding a hobby you enjoyed. For Wilson it was sword fighting, obviously.  
Wes felt his back grow tense as the shriek of the machine tore at his nerves. How long was this going to take? His hands tired from holding the spiked club. 

When the bell chimed Wes looked up. Had the noise stopped? He would hear it in his head for a while, feeling it in his skull.  
There were no more shadows. Wilson stood in a pool of darkness, breathing hard, his body stained with black. He laughed at something, wiping at his face with his free hand and smearing his eyes with ink.  
Wes waved at him.  
Wilson stared back like he didn’t know who he was. Something was funny though, because he kept giggling.  
Meanwhile, the machine whirred away. The lightning moved in a steady spiral, twisting in place. Staring at it, Wes scratched his head. Was there something more to do?  
He held up a handful of shadows, and the arm snatched them away.  
Exploding with enough force to knock them back again, the lighting erupted from the battered archway, burning the frozen ground, shattering the ice.  
Something hurt a lot. Wes lifted himself out of the snow and realized it was him. He looked around. Wilson?  
The archway had changed. Starlight shone from its battered center, so bright it hurt. 

Wilson had dropped the sword to stare at the light. The icy glare reflected in his eyes that teared up at the sight. Why?  
He patted his face. Who?  
With a flash of shimmering heat, a howling wind whipped up around the portal, forcing them back.  
Wilson plopped down on his back. He lay there on the snow staring at the sky, so pretty!  
Someone looked down at him. They pointed at the light.  
Wilson waved at them. Then he took some snow and ate it. 

Wes wrung his hands. After much deliberation, he dragged Wilson upright and walked him against the searing wind. Towards the archway.  
As they approached the spiral of light, a figure appeared in the glare. Wes squinted at the silhouette, Wilson cooed at it. Then the light spat them out and into them, knocking them over.  
The Portal stood for a few moments more, then two giant shadow hands reached out of the ground and took it away. 

Standing still, Wes bit his lip. Was this how it was supposed to go? Over the forest, the sky was getting dark.  
Wilson was building a snowman. After that, the scientist sat down and ate something he’d found on the ground. Wes hopped from one food to the other. Was this the plan? Should he also build a snowman?  
He looked down at the figure that had come out of the light. A young woman with red hair in two thick braids. She looked like some kind of warrior. With a winged helmet and brown leather armor. She wasn’t moving.  
Rubbing the back of his neck, Wes looked away. It was never a good idea to be unconscious and vulnerable like that. He wanted to hide her underneath a blanket of snow until she woke up. 

Wilson spat out flower petals. Cringing at the bitter floral taste, he held his head. It felt like a dark sponge bouncing around in there, sucking up his thoughts.  
He forced down several more petals. Then he realized.  
Slowly, he turned to face the consequences. The archway had gone. Wes stood around being useless, and it was all his own fault. The sword had robbed him of his chance today.  
He bit down on the scream building up in his throat and buried his head in his hands.  
Chester came to him, and after some nudging, Wilson allowed the soft creature onto his lap. He swallowed, letting out a deep, shuddering breath.  
I can endure, I know I can. One day at a time. He groaned. But the days took forever to get through! Wait. He’d seen something lying in the snow next to Wes. 

Wes jumped as footsteps approached.  
Wilson steadied himself. He dropped to his knees at the woman’s side. There he held her wrist and touched her neck. ‘She’s alive,’ he said, his voice hoarse and tensed up.  
‘Did she come through? Did the portal work? What happened?’  
Wes shuffled his feet. How was he going to explain? Wilson only stared at him if he used sign language. Writing it down in the snow? He’d lost his spear again...  
He gestured with his hands, making it look like an explosion happened between his fingertips.  
Wilson frowned. He looked exhausted.  
Wes pointed at the ground, then made his hands into claws. Making a scary face. He felt himself fluster. Not good enough.  
Shaking, Wes pointed at the woman, then towards where the portal had been. He also pointed at Wilson, acting out how to build a snowman. He frowned at that.  
Wilson ran a hand through his hand, looking up with distant eyes. ‘You don’t know?’  
Hanging his shoulders, Wes shrugged.  
The woman groaned.  
Wilson lifted her in his arms and carried her away. They headed back up the slope. Like at the end of every day so far.  
Biting his thumb, Wes stayed close by. What was Wilson going to do?  
But he needn’t have worried. Wilson was a nice man. He placed the woman on a sleeping mat by the fire. That was good.  
Wes tried acting out again what had happened, using sign language too. He wrote in the snow. But Wilson just shushed his movements, wrapping badges on his wounds.  
Then the man sat down at the fire, eyes lost staring into the flames.  
Wes dropped his gaze, sitting down, hunching up on himself. 

After a while, Wilson looked up. He massaged his shoulder, wincing as he did so.  
‘I’m sorry if I snapped at you back there,’ he said.  
He looked at the sleeping woman, then at Wes. ‘I think you tried to confirm she came through the portal?’  
Wes nodded.  
Wilson sat up taller. ‘If it works in one direction, it must work in the other. We just have to get to that part of the routine faster. We can do this.’  
Wes shrugged.  
Wilson stood. ‘You really helped me today,’ he added. ‘You do not understand how difficult it is to power that thing alone and fight them off. Thank you.’  
Wes waved the words of praise away, but he smiled.  
‘We’ll start gathering the new resources tomorrow.’  
The mime deflated, pressing his chin into his hand.  
‘I’ll take you back to the stone field,’ Wilson went on, loading ingredients into the crock-pot. He took a sharp breath as his fingers grabbed the lid and wouldn’t unclench. ‘Let me handle the other things.’ 

That night, Wilson sat alone at the fire. Wes and the young woman were both asleep. Wes slept in a tight ball, unmoving from his fetal position on the sleeping mat.  
At least now, they had proof the portal connected to the outside world. The woman looked like some kind of warrior from another time. What did this mean?  
Wilson rubbed his face. Maybe she could be useful? His memory was hazy. That dambed sword. There had been moments lost through the never ending battle. If she could fight, he could put off using the sword.  
He rubbed his shoulder again, stretching his neck to one side. A sharp pain kept nagging him at the shoulder joint. A slow breath escaped through his gritted teeth. What a waste.  
I need to rest; he thought. Tomorrow would be another busy day of getting the hell out of this place. 

In the gloom, Charlie paced back and forth across a red plush carpet. Weak light shone in from unseen windows, always in different places. Long drapes framed the room, and it smelled of fresh roses.  
‘It didn’t work?’ She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. ‘What is this, his third attempt now?’  
She stopped in the center of the room, underneath an elaborate chandelier.  
But the portal had opened this time. Wilson had shouted that, at least.  
And someone had come through? Charlie nodded to herself. If someone could come in one way, they could leave through it too. She agreed with Wilson on that.  
With a sigh, she folded her arms. He’d said they needed to rebuild it. With the blueprint, and this Wes person to help him. How long was this going to take?  
For her, this meant it was time to get back to work.  
She walked over to a dark reading nook, where an elegant wooden work-table stood. Long bookcases surrounded it on three sides, filled with many things.  
Lighting a red candle, Charlie spread out a red cloth. Here she packed another package with supplies. Things that Wilson couldn’t get.  
She hummed to herself in the gloom, a familiar tune she didn’t recognize as being familiar to her. In the shadows behind the curtains, something moved to the melody. 

Wilson turned in his sleep. He knew he was dreaming because of the familiar setting. He’d dreamt it many times before. Hallways all cast in shadow, illuminated only by the white flames of torches that never went out.  
Staring up at the absolute darkness of the ceiling, Wilson shook his head. ‘Oh great. Let’s have this dream again, shall we?’  
He never got to the end of these passages, which was perhaps a blessing. This time, however, the pain in his shoulder accompanied him.  
Wilson walked for as long as he could, but it kept getting worse.  
‘Come on!’ He slammed his hand to the smooth wall, clutching his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you supposed to not feel any pain in dreams? What’s the whole pinching test for, then?’  
He went on without seeing, hands pressed to the wall for guidance.  
The sword! This only happened after he used the damned thing. Even as it first appeared in his Inventory he’d balked at using it. Powerful though it was, it came at a significant cost of sanity.  
Besides, it probably belonged to Maxwell at some point. Wilson spat. ‘I’ll stick to a spear instead. Problem solved.’  
The wall ended, and he stumbled to the ground. Wilson lay on his side. Eyes pinched shut, focused on his breathing. The pain was incredible.  
He tried to pull the sword out of its place and met with resistance. At first it felt like pulling at a few hairs, then a tug on his skin. He clenched his teeth and yanked. Wilson stifled a scream and let go.  
His hands shook and sweat stood out on his brow. He rocked back and forth. Not good.  
‘You doing alright there, Pal?’ A familiar voice asked.  
Wilson sat up faster than he could think. Two white torches shone on a dark throne above him, illuminating a familiar silhouette.  
Wilson sat there speechless.  
Sitting on a broken throne, Maxwell looked nothing more than a shadow. But the way he held a cigar was unmistakable.  
Wilson shook his head. ‘I can’t deal with this now.’ He pinched himself. Wake up! There’s too much to do today.  
Maxwell crossed one leg over the other. ‘Not what you expected?’  
A rush of anger sent Wilson to his feet. He pointed a finger at the man. ‘You sleazy son of a-’  
Maxwell backhanded him, sending him to his knees.  
Wilson stared at his hands on the cold marble floor. His cheek and nose burned from the impact. A drop of blood hit his index finger. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not after all he’d suffered. Why was his mind doing this to him?  
‘Going to find a better tone for me down there?’ Maxwell asked.  
Wilson pressed his fist to his mouth.  
Maxwell kept on talking, his voice monotone like he was reading from a script. ‘You’re here later than I expected.’  
Wilson sat up, his voice empty as he glared at the specter. ‘I’m not really here, you dolt.’  
Maxwell stood at the insult, a clawed hand reaching for Wilson’s throat.  
Wilson reeled back, his eyes wide. ‘No!’ 

Pale morning light shone through the bare branches. Wilson sat up, his hands clasped to his mouth, his back drenched in sweat.  
A feverish heat buzzed underneath his skin, his heart beat fast in his throat. He swallowed, pinching his eyes shut, tasting blood.  
On the other side of the firepit, Wes sat up too.  
Wilson jumped to his feet and turned away. He struggled for something to say, but his hands wouldn’t move from his mouth. Then he fled.  
Wes sat there for a moment, tilting his head to one side. He bounced his foot on the ground. Did Wilson just run away? Was that odd?  
The mime rubbed his arm and looked around. Then he dug a balloon from his Inventory and made a giraffe. And a monkey. The giraffe was green, and the monkey was blue. He smiled at the sight of them; two pretty things hovering over the snow and casting their colors down.  
The hounds were suddenly there around him. Loud, barking things with their fur standing up and their jaws snapping.  
Wes placed his hands to the side of his face and made a startled face.  
He looked for the woman, but she wasn’t on her mat. She was awake.  
The woman stood with her winged helmet on her head and a spear in her hand. She let out a battle scream that made all the beasts focus their eyes on her. Then the hounds attacked.

Wilson ran back. Half-sliding through the snow, towards the sounds of slaughter coming from the base. Hounds! He slapped himself across the face. Why did he leave them defenseless like that!  
When he returned a deep silence lay over the base. He held his stomach, walking forward with a dull feeling in his chest. He passed a dead hound, then another. Dead enemies littered the ground. His eyebrows rose.  
The woman stood at the center of that carnage, covered in blood. She stood there shaking, but with a wide grin on her face.  
Walking up to her, he took her face in his hands. ‘Did you do this?’  
She nodded, speaking with some kind of accent. ‘I am a warrior.’  
Wilson let her go. She was small, almost frail. But what she’d done to the hounds spoke for itself. And there were blue ones too, they exploded into ice-shards when you killed them. He shook his head, looking back at her.  
Eying the camp, searching, he found Wes. The mime waved at him, one leg frozen in a block of ice. On wobbly legs, Wilson freed him with his pickaxe. He looked him over, checking if there were any wounds. ‘Did you get hurt?’  
Wes nodded, then shook his head.  
‘Good,’ Wilson said. He looked around and shook his head again, a smile on his lips. ‘Um, breakfast, anyone?’ 

With the firepit rekindled, Wilson waved for them to join him.  
Wes sat down cross-legged, hands clasped.  
The woman watched the dead bodies disappear into the snow. She nudged a dropped tooth with her furred, leather boot. Her brow creased. ‘Is this Niflheim? The frozen realm of the dead?’  
Wilson had to re-listen to her words in his head to unravel the accent.  
‘No, I don’t think so. This is somewhere else. But we’re working on making our way back home. Do you want to go home?’  
The woman shrugged. She watched an orange creature shuffle by and plop down at the fire. She looked ready to collapse. ‘Are we not dead?’  
Wilson listened, then shook his head. ‘I think we’re very much alive, unfortunately. What is your name?’  
‘Wigfrid.’  
‘I’m Wilson, and this is Wes. Want some meatballs, Wigfrid? How are you feeling?’  
Dangling her arms, she shrugged. ‘I like meat. It makes me feel strong.’  
‘Come sit,’ Wilson offered again.  
She took the plate he held out to her. Then she ate it.  
Wigfrid patted herself. ‘I.. ate the plate?’ Her eyes went from one man to the other. ‘This is normal?’  
Wilson clapped his hands together. ‘There are a few things normal here that are not normal anywhere else. And I can assure you, you’ll get used to them sooner than you think.’  
She held up an impressive spear. ‘I fight, I am fine. I am a warrior.’  
Wilson chuckled. ‘Well, I am a scientist and Wes is a mime.’  
Wes beamed at her.  
Wigfrid took off her helmet, not ready to sit down. ‘A strange production,’ she said, ‘but it might work.’  
Wilson handed Wes his breakfast. ‘That’s the spirit! There are a few things we need to get done today. Killing those hounds was actually a good start on that!’ He pressed a hand to his chin, muttering to himself. ‘Now we have an extra pair of hands we can do so much more. Did I set up enough traps?’ He wandered off between the trees, talking to himself. 

Wigfrid looked at Wes. ‘You don’t speak, never?’  
The mime pointed at his throat and shook his head. Then he made a sad face, followed by a shrug.  
Wigfrid raised her eyebrows, jamming her hands into her fur-lined pockets.  
A terrible noise echoed through the forest. Wigfrid raised her spear, squinting at the darkness between the trees. The earth shook and birds scattered.  
Wilson came running back, waving his arms.  
‘Time to move!’ he yelled. ‘Run, leave it behind Wes!’  
He grabbed the mime by the arm and dragged him away from the crock-pot.  
‘Wigfrid!’ 

The little group ran across the snow, as something behind them made the earth shake with its approach.  
Wigfrid stopped at the sound of destruction. She held up her spear, but Wilson grabbed her hand before she could run back to defend their base.  
He rolled his eyes, dragging them both with him. ‘Come ON you two! We can rebuild.’ 

Wilson made them halt at a field and pick the dried grass where it stuck out of the snow. The scientist hacked away at frozen boulders, picking up stone and glinting gold.  
Wigfrid kept her eye on the distant forest behind them. But the afternoon was quiet, almost peaceful. She shivered as fresh snow fell down from the clouds above.  
‘Here, wrap up good.’ Wilson handed her a woollen hat. Wes waved at her, an identical hat perched on his head.  
Tapping her lip with a finger, Wigfrid tilted her head at it. ‘This is not fitting for a warrior,’ she said.  
Wilson just smiled. ‘Wear it for now. I’ll have something else ready for you, when we reach our new base.’  
She sighed and wore the hat. So this was how things were now? It sure made the afternoon less freezing. 

They kept up the pace for the entire day. Collecting and running, gathering, and the occasion rest at a small fire made from twigs and logs.  
Wilson handed out grilled meat that Wigfrid devoured. She’d never been this hungry. Wes warmed his hands, a contented look on his painted face whenever they gathered like this.  
Wilson seemed to know where to go. Occasionally he would stand still, eyes closed, then pick a new direction.  
They chopped wood, but never more than some number the scientist had in his head. Then they would move on. Until it got too dark to see.  
Wigfrid stumbled after the group, a torch in her hand. The snow was dazzling in the glare, like falling stars against the pure dark of the forest.  
Wes took her hand before she fell, guiding her to the warmth of a new firepit. 

Wilson hummed to himself, preparing a stew in the crock-pot. A piece of bone popped up from the meaty depths. He stirred with it.  
‘This is Hard-worker stew,’ he said, handing them each a sizable portion. ‘Hard workers get Hard-worker stew. If we keep this up we’ll be out of here in no time.’  
Wigfrid inhaled the food, her eyes kept falling shut. She’d never been this tired. Could she even remember another time before now?  
Wes held up his hand for seconds.  
The scientist smiled at them, his face lit up by the flames from below.  
‘You two take it easy for a while,’ he said. ‘I’m going to go for a walk, get some supplies, might take all night. There are a lot of things we need to find for the Machine. It won’t build itself. That’s our job. Wes, you might show her how to make a sleeping mat.’  
Wigfrid watched Wilson go. She then pointed at the direction he’d left in and looked over to Wes. ‘He is a nice man.’  
Wes held out his arms in a sign of agreement and his face lit up.


	12. End of winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Life kept me from updating, but you can bet that I stole minutes and moments to write this here for you.  
> Hope this chapter finds you well, I kinda want Sunday to be my upload day, you know. 
> 
> Thanks for all the Kudos, especially the one's from this afternoon, those really made me push through to publish today.  
> Some new archive warning do apply, they're in the tags.

The rabbit’s neck snapped with a dry cracking sound. Wes stared at the little animal, dangling lifeless in Wigfrid’s hands. It had looked at him from the trap just a moment ago; full of life. Did it have a family? Was there a home empty, now that it was gone?  
Wigfrid was still talking, but there was no sound to her words. Wes bounced the cup of hand to his ear. Nothing. 

Wigfrid dropped the rabbit and waved at him, yelling something.  
A wall of fur collided with his side and pushed him into the snow.  
At least he could hear again: the hound’s growl reverberated deep into his chest. It planted a paw on his stomach and took his arm into its jaws.  
But the pain never came. The beast yowled, snapping at the spear lodge in its thick neck.  
Wigfrid pushed it in deeper, releasing a spout of blood that painted the snow red and steamed the air.  
The hound shuddered and died.

Wes stood and sat back down: his legs wouldn’t do their job right now. He sighed.  
The battle continued around him while the dead eyes of the hound stared through him. He reached out and petted the snout.  
Wigfrid fought. Moving quick and sure, almost like a dancer with a spear. She kept the hounds away from him.  
It snowed. The heavy flakes first absorbing the blood on the ground, then thinly veiling them with white. Wes caught a perfect snowflake on his glove.  
Wigfrid dropped a heap of fresh meat into his arms.  
‘Wes! This will make a lot of good hard-worker stews!’  
Wes smiled, his legs had decided to work again, though not with much faith.  
A hand steadied his shoulder from behind.  
Wigfrid looked up at someone behind him. ‘Wilson, you’re back!’

The scientist gave Wigfrid an impressed look, gesturing at the signs of slaughter around them.  
She folded her arms. ‘They were no match, we held them off with ease!’  
He looked Wes over, wiping a dark smear from the underside of his jaw with his sleeve, then turning over his hand between his fingertips.  
A few bite wounds bled into the snow. Wes gasped at them and felt the hurt, now that he saw the injury.  
Wilson wrapped a thick bandage across the marks, taking care to rub the honey into them.  
‘This is our last poultice,’ he said. ‘No more bees.’ He smoothed his shirt, readjusting his lapels. ‘There’s also a flower shortage.’  
‘Flowers?’ Wigfrid frowned at this.  
He motioned for them to follow him away from the empty traps and fading hound bodies.  
‘We need them strewn around the machine,’ he said. ‘Should one of us go insane, while we feed the machine, they…’ He smiled and waved his hand. ‘Well, you’ll feel inclined to eat them when you happen upon them. Eating them helps you gain your soundness of mind back.’  
Wes touched his brow, his eyebrows raised. Some things suddenly made more sense now.  
‘Flowers are not for eating,’ Wigfrid said, putting her fist down on her open hand. ‘I don’t like the green leafy things. They taste like weakness.’  
‘You’ll see,’ Wilson reassured her. ‘They’ll look appetizing enough when you’re out of your mind.’  
She did a little jump for joy. ‘We go insane, like the berserker?’  
‘You could say that, yes. But less functional.’  
Wes nodded at this. He mimed making a snowman, but no-one noticed.  
‘Sounds good.’ Wigfrid smiled to herself, her eyes aglow with the prospect of being an even fiercer warrior.

They made their way through the forest down a slope, past empty berry bushes, towards a space cleared between the trees.  
Chests lined a dirt patch on two sides. They had shoveled the snow away one afternoon, this was where they would build their way out.  
Wigfrid did some stretches, warming up her muscles by running towards the trees and back.  
Wilson checked every chest. ‘Wes, you can stand here. Do exactly what you did last time.’  
Wes frowned at those instructions. How? Which part? He didn’t remember everything he did last time. In fact, some pieces of it were a bit of a blur and filled him with a vague sense of fear.  
He held up his hand, but let it fall down at his side again. How to perform his questions in a way that made sense?  
Wilson saw the confusion and patted Wes on the shoulder. ‘It’ll work this time. Don’t worry. We have Wigfrid now, that should make it easier.’  
Wes nodded, looking down at his shoes. He then gave Wilson a smile.  
Wilson squeezed his shoulder in approval. ‘That’s the spirit. Soon we’ll be out of this mess and we’ll get to get on with our lives.’

Wilson pointed at the rows of chests, then looked at the two faces in front of him.  
‘We worked hard and collected what we need to build the machine.’  
Wigfrid swung her arms, rocking back and forth on her heels. ‘Very hard and long work because it was boring.’  
Wilson steepled his fingertips, pressing them to his mouth. ‘I know, and I am grateful I did not have to do it all alone. Well, It’s a little later than I want it to be,’ he checked the treeline and huffed, ‘but it will have to do.’  
‘Finally!’ Wigfrid readied her spear  
Wes looked at his hands, they were shaking.  
Wilson built: He consulted the blueprint and took ingredients from the chests. While he worked, Wigfrid stood still, her spear in hand and helmet on her head, her eyes fixed on the silent forest around them.  
Wes chewed the side of his thumb. There was a moment where he felt a great wave of panic wash over him. But it didn’t have anywhere to go, and he wasn’t sure why. So he chewed his thumb, and he waited. 

Slowly, an archway appeared. The naked eyeball and gaunt shadow arm rose underneath the darkening sky, and when the horrible noise rang out, the red of the setting sun gleaming on the gelatinous, hungry orb. It looked down at Wes.  
Wigfrid took a step back when They appeared from the shadows. Her hands tightening around her spear. ‘Evil spirits,’ she whispered.  
‘We’re going to kill them!’ Wilson called out, running past her to get at them with his spear. ‘Wes! Fuel! You can do it! Come with us! Pick up the pieces!’  
Wes pressed his hands to his face, but he jogged after them. Picking up the first batches of jellied shadow that dropped from the eager battle.  
All things considered, they almost made it.  
Wes tried, he really did. When he fell, someone picked him back up, keeping the dark claws and fangs away from his body.  
Wilson had planned for almost everything. He lit several pre-made fire pits around the arena. So that when night fell, they had light to fight by.  
Wigfrid excelled. She slew the endless horde, keeping a line they didn’t breach. Together with Wilson, she kept the machine safe for its first phases. The bell kept chiming while Wes fed endless shreds of shadows into it. It never seemed satisfied.  
The lightning surged strong, casting electric blue ripples over the snow. The tortured noises from the machine shrieked higher and drew fiercer shadow creatures than ever. 

Wes tripped, when he tried to get up, he fell down again. It was the ground that kept making him fall. Then the trees exploded, and a monster entered the clearing.  
He froze, hands held up between him and the one-eyed monolithic creature who’s step made the ground shatter. A shape so large it defied sanity.  
Wigfrid looked up from her latest kill and her mouth turned into the widest grin, tears springing into her eyes. ‘I knew,’ she yelled, ‘in my heart I knew!’ Her voice shook but became clearer while she spoke, her voice strong enough to reach over the endless ugliness of the portal. She wiped her eyes clear to see better. ‘Utgard, realm of the untamed magic, realm of endless chaos. Jotunheim, realm of giants, of magic, of ice! I am here!’  
Wilson narrowed his eyes up at the creature. The giant’s eye rolled down to look back at him, past him, at his machine, and it started right for it, trailing dirt and snow, stomping down on the now empty chests.  
Wilson took a breath to shout orders, but his mouth just hung open as the creature towered over him. Coming closer. He couldn’t think.  
Something orange darted in front of him, barking at the monster to stop. To not come any closer to his master.  
Wilson slapped himself in the face so hard he fell sideways. It didn’t help. All he could do was kneel and look up, his knuckles white from gripping the now useless spear. 

Wigfrid took a stand. She got a few hits in, slicing at the creature’s enormous shins and drawing tiny slivers of blood.  
Then it bent down and bellowed at her, hitting her with a torrent of frost and icicles.  
Wigfrid gasped as the force of it threw her back, freezing her in place.  
She tore at her legs, her arms, her heartbeat overpowering everything else. Her vision tunneling on the being in front of her.  
Her thoughts raced: Stuck! Hurt. Where?  
Then she noticed, as the adrenaline leaked out of her flushed skin. A long ice shard impaled her neck, the cold radiating all the way into her heart. It stuck out against the underside of her chin, making her look at the world sideways.  
Wigfrid coughing up dark blood that fell on the snow, lit up red by the dying flames around her.  
The machine fell silent, and she could hear herself wheeze and groan. Her face scrunched up from the pain, slick with sweat and tears. Then her breathing stopped, held too tight by the ice.  
For a moment, every detail stood out as clear as the sharp pain from her wound.  
Wigfrid looked at the darkness above, from where the monster swung for her.  
This is how I die?  
The giant sliced her with claws that moved like an avalanche.  
She saw chunks of ice fly away. Bits of her own body hit the ground.  
Beautiful.  
Then she died. 

Wilson crawled forward, reaching for Chester. He wanted to just shoo him. If he could get him out of the way-  
Chester was gone.  
Wilson knew that the monster had stepped on his little doggy. But the reality wouldn’t sink in. He continued to crawl forward. ‘Chester! C’mere boy!’  
Someone grabbed his arm and tore him away before the next step could crush him.  
He tried to free himself, but there was no fighting the grip on his arm. Wilson struggled regardless, his limbs flailing useless until the powerful hand released him.  
He fell down into the snow and stayed there.  
After a while there was a fire. Not that it mattered.  
He stared at his hands lying in his lap. Someone had placed flowers into them.  
He threw them away.  
They were put right back.  
Wilson was about to throw them back out when a hand clamped down over his mouth, making him chew the flowers until they were gone.  
‘Wes!’ He dry-heaved, then sat back down, folding his arms. ‘You’re actually very strong.’  
Wes looked at from across the fire with hollow eyes. He did not look good.  
Wilson sighed. ‘That-’ He suppressed a shiver. ‘We should have waited until tomorrow.’ 

His hands reached for the fire, trying to feel something of its warmth but failing, avoiding Wes’ stare. Wilson sagged, the dull heaviness inside him overwhelming him. He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to catch a breath.  
The fire crackled high. Wes had built a fire pit. That was impressive. He didn’t know Wes knew how to do that.  
Then he noticed a drying rack. That was a tad much to expect. It looked broken though, old. Wilson blinked. A sense of dark dread building up at the back of his mind. There! A dark pillar, several of them, caught his eye, making him stand up and walk over to them.  
He touched the wall of obelisks and shook his head.  
‘This is wrong.’ He veered round, seeing the remains of a familiar base and recognizing them for what they meant. The rows of ruined crock pots and shattered drying racks. I built that!  
He slapped a hand to his forehead.  
‘No wonder it’s always winter and nothing else! That’s it!’  
Wes looked at him over his shoulder.  
‘Wes!’ He waved at him. ‘We need to die!’  
Wilson shook his head. He leaned forward, grabbing his knees. The sudden realisation made him light-headed.  
Wes approached him, footsteps barely making a sound..  
‘We could wait until we starve,’ Wilson said. ‘Or I could kill your first, then-’  
His words were cut off by a thrust to his chest.  
Wes held onto him, cradling the back of his neck while he pushed the knife in deep and upwards.  
Wilson struggled a little, so Wes hugged him tighter, lifting him into a bear bug. Then the man fell silent.  
A swirling light took the lifeless body away from his arms, and Wes was left standing alone.  
Was that normal? What even was normal.

He wiped the bloody hunting knife on his sleeve, walking back to the fire.  
His head hung low, Wes swallowed. He had a lot of feelings and thoughts with no-where to go.  
So he made a balloon man. That was Wilson. He was blue. Wes placed him next to himself by the fire and smiled at him. He also made a balloon animal that was orange for little Wilson. Then came Wigfrid. He gave her a ballon spear, too.  
Wes rubbed his eyes. Did he make them up? He looked at the colorful creations.  
Had they really been alive and now they were dead?  
Did they know me?  
He made a balloon man of himself. But he didn’t place himself by the fire. He let that fellow drift away towards the trees.  
Wes sat back and looked at the dark sky. It snowed.  
His eyebrows rose, and he checked his arm. There was definitely blood on his sleeve, he’d killed someone that had blood in them. There also was a bandage on his hand.  
Wilson had put that there. Wilson had been real, and he was a nice man.  
Wes bit his thumb. Then why did I kill him?  
He glanced back at the balloon drifting alone between the dark trees.  
Typical Wes.  
He took out the knife again. It was a good knife, nice and sharp. It had a horse engraved on it. Wes sighed. He pressed it into his wrist, making a drop of red appear.  
Then he decided against it and sliced his throat instead. 

Wes sank down by the fire, his body jerking from the sudden loss of blood, a disturbing gurgling sound mingled with the crackling flames.  
A shadow sprang up, standing away from the flames. A long man with a shaggy beard that watched him squirm. Then Wes died. 

In her room, Charlie sat up on the carpet, her eyes red and hair torn out of place.  
Those sounds, the horrible sounds! She’d broken down and cried until her own voice drowned out the sounds of dying.  
Even Wes!  
What had made her stop? Did someone speak?  
Charlie blinked. She could hear the girl, Wigfrid, talking far away. Then Wilson.  
They were alive?  
Had Wilson not lost his mind after all?  
But that wasn’t it. Someone had called her by her name. Her eyes grew big when she saw someone stare back at her from across the room.  
A familiar face that looked a little older than she remembered it.  
A fresh sob sprang into her throat when the figure called out to her again. ‘“Charlie!”  
Charlie jumped up, running towards her sister. Afraid the darkness would snatch her away.  
Her big sister, lit up from behind by flames, framed by the scratchy light of a portal.  
She looked hurt, bruised and slightly scorched, dressed in her overalls and her hair tied away in a cloth. Winona, strong and capable. Here to rescue her.  
Charlie fell to her knees, her voice full of shaky laughter. ‘You found me!’  
Winona reached for her. ‘Come on!’  
Charlie tipped her head to one side, pointing her finger. ‘There’s a fire?’  
A burning beam fell down next to her sister, making her jump.  
‘There was an explosion!’ Winona called to her over the sounds of the collapsing building. ‘This weird machine broke down, took my boss away. But I fixed it.’  
A shadow crossed Charlie’s face. ‘You fixed it?’  
‘I looked for you, went looking everywhere! And here you are! Come on, we need to head out quick!’  
Charlie stood, folding her arms. Suddenly she felt taller. Winona’s eyes followed her up.  
‘I can’t just leave them,’ Charlie said, surprising herself.  
Another beam fell down, crashing through the floor. Winona turned a wrench on something in her room, keeping the portal open. ‘Charlie!’  
Charlie blinked. Her sister was so useful. So good at fixing things. She held out her hand; her face pleading. ‘Winona, help me!’  
Winona grabbed her hand, and Charlie, with a strength that startled her, pulled her sister through into the darkness. 

Something exploded, sending Winona crashing into her. But Charlie caught her, sending her up into the shadows, holding her in the air without a thought.  
The portal had gone. But Charlie didn’t worry. She smiled up at her unconscious sister and felt a surge of warmth. Her hands clasped to her heart. ‘Remember how much fun we had when we were little?’ She giggled; ‘Duck, duck, goose! You are a moose!’  
Charlie doubled over with laughter. She straightened up, readjusting her long, black dress.  
A tear in the world opened up on the floor, revealing a green flower-meadow that hurt to look at, it was so bright.  
With only a small hesitation, Charlie dropped Winona into it.  
‘Find Wilson!’ She called after her. ‘Follow his voice, he really needs your help!’ The hole closed, bringing back the comforting gloom.  
Charlie readjusted her hair, turning and turning to a melody from a music box.  
When she stopped the sound faded.  
A wrinkle of worry crossed her brow, but she shook her head. ‘The place was on fire, we would have died running around in there. Besides, I can’t leave them. They need me.’ 

Wes opened his eyes, Wilson looked back down at him.  
‘Easy, that looks like it hurt.’  
Wes patted himself down, his hands coming away bloodied.  
Wigfrid was there too, leaning on her spear by a tree.  
He sat up frowning. The grass was green, and there were birds singing everywhere. Butterflies floated through the air. It smelled like spring, like honey.  
‘You surprised me back there,’ Wilson said, kneeling next to him. I’m glad you remembered to kill yourself.’ He touched the drying blood stain on his chest, where his heart was. ‘Good job!’  
Wes grabbed Wilson’s arm, his face a picture of incomprehension.  
Wilson chuckled at that, looking away. ‘Turns out we were stuck in a challenge we could no longer win. This is the actual world. …Well, the place where you’re supposed to be. There are seasons here, so things can regrow. That means plenty of food. We’ll have an easier time getting out of here. I might even find us my old base.’ He sighed. ‘If it still stands.’  
He helped Wes to his feet, steadying him with an arm around his waist. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll heal soon enough, once we find you something to eat.’  
Wilson looked back. ‘Wigfrid?’  
The viking stood with her helmet shading her eyes. ‘I want to fight,’ she said, then looked up with a fire in her eyes. ‘I want to fight the giant!’  
Wilson smiled. ‘You’ll have your chance.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘If we somehow stay here until winter. I know he doesn’t appear until then. Can you hunt us some more food?’  
‘A worthy enemy,’ Wigfrid said, catching up to them. ‘Half deer, half cyclopean king of winter.’  
Wilson snorted. ‘Deerclops.’  
Wigfrid held up her spear to the sky. ‘I’ll kill him. I know how he moves now.’  
‘I believe you,’ Wilson said, nodding to a field of dry grass ahead. ‘I also think I saw a bunny over there.’ He stopped, turning around. An orange creature sprang up to him, bounding from between the trees.  
‘Chester!’ He knelt, holding out his arms.  
‘Your… dog, right?’ Wigfrid asked.  
Wilson patted him. ‘Goo boy Chessie, you know where I am, don’t you! Yes you do! You do!’  
Wes smiled. Everything had somehow turned out alright. On an impulse he knelt too and held out his hand.  
Chester rolled back onto his legs and stared at him. Then walked up to be petted.  
‘He likes you!’ Wilson beamed.  
Wigfrid, who had also spotted the rabbit, ran off to get it.  
‘We’ll rebuild and start again,’ Wilson said. ‘This time, it will work. I know it will.’  
Wes sighed, but he petted the dog and it had the softest fur.


	13. Out and about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's an early update because I got over motivated to do so :D   
> A change of characters, but be prepared for people meeting up soon. Have a good day, night, evening, morning, afternoon! You deserve it.

Maxwell scraped the grey goop out of the pot and into the fire, where it sizzled and curled up into a blackened ball. He rubbed his arm. ‘Maybe I didn’t put the food in at the right time.’  
When he looked up, Webber was about to eat a greenish piece of rotten steak.  
‘Don’t!’ Maxwell grabbed for it, but Webber tucked it away.  
‘Don’t eat that! What even is that?’  
Webber shrugged. ‘I found it on the ground. It’s better than what you keep cooking.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Why don’t you know how to cook? You’re an adult.’  
A shudder ran up Maxwell’s back as the “steak” revisited his mind: Yellow beads of fouling sweat, bloated, bright green with stiff purple edges.  
He shook himself. ‘I’ll figure it out, eventually. There’s only so many ways a thing can go wrong, before it has to go right.’  
‘Maybe you should stop.’ Webber said. ‘You’re using up all the berries.’  
Maxwell, unperturbed, tossed some fresh fruit into the crock pot. ‘You’ll see.’  
But Webber was already running. ‘I’m going to find my own breakfast! Can’t wait until you’re done doing it wrong!’

Maxwell sighed. He looked at the scene before him while the pot bubbled over the fire. Their base, where they slept on the ground because he couldn’t build them beds.  
He glanced at the boulder, the first thing they’d spotted that brought them to this place. A haunting feeling of familiarity overcame him. He pressed a hand to his brow.  
I’ve stood here before,’ he thought with a frown. I know it. And there was someone here with me. ...someone nice. His hand traced a shape on the air that wasn’t there.  
There were the distant drying racks, the small garden plots. Someone had lived here once, it seemed long ago. He let out a heavy sigh. Why can’t I remember anything?  
‘Are you crying?’  
Maxwell glanced at Webber, who had climbed onto the boulder.  
‘I’m just tired,’ he answered.  
‘Because you’re old?’  
‘Yes. Because I’m old.’  
‘You know you’ve been standing there for an hour now?’  
Maxwell frowned at the kid. ‘That sounds like an exaggeration.’  
‘Nope.’ Webber swung his arms. He made a jump for the chest standing next to the crockpot, and landed short. 

‘I saw someone,’ Webber said, climbing back onto the boulder for another try.  
Maxwell couldn’t decide why the place fascinated him so much. Yes it was familiar, but it also felt like something was different. He looked up, eyebrows raised. ‘You saw someone?’  
Webber landed a little closer to the chest and nodded. ‘I went exploring while you were standing around doing nothing and I saw someone.’  
‘What did they look like?’  
‘I dunno, they ran away.’  
‘Were they young, old?’  
Webber giggled. ‘Not as old as you. They were fast. I don’t think anyone can be as old as you are.’  
Maxwell sighed. ‘You should have come to get me.’  
‘I did. But you were just standing around.’  
Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Where?’  
‘Right here next to the boulder.’  
‘Where did you see the person?’  
Webber pointed. ‘Over there!’ He sprinted away, stopping to wave him over. ‘Come on! Hurry!’

Maxwell found his thoughts drifting again. Walking through the wooded area next to the base haunted him too. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around for things that weren’t there. How could a place feel packed with memories that didn’t seem to belong to him?  
Webber screamed.  
Running without thinking, Maxwell sped towards the sound. ‘Webber!’  
In a clearing, Webber stood on a log. The boy looked at him and screamed again.  
Maxwell folded his arms.  
Webber laughed. ‘Did I scare you?’ He stuck out his chest. ‘I’m practicing my screams.’  
‘Maybe don’t do that.’  
‘Why not?’  
Maxwell waved his hand. ‘The boy that cried wolf, you know the story.’  
All of Webber’s eight eyes focused on him. ‘Story?’  
‘It’s a moral tale about not yelling for help when you are not in trouble.’  
‘But what’s the story?’  
‘I just told you.’  
Now Webber folded his arms. ‘No, you didn’t.’  
‘Is this where you saw the person?’  
‘I think so. But everything looks the same, anyway.’  
Maxwell framed his mouth with his hands. ‘Hello!’  
Webber, a smirk on his hairy face, stood tall and screamed.

Maxwell sighed, wishing his hearing had aged as bad as Webber thought it must have. He went a little ahead, standing between the dark trees for a moment of silence.  
Fairy Tales, he understood now why so many parents in them abandoned their children in the woods.  
‘Is anyone out there!’ He coughed. ‘We have a fire! Some food, too. Don’t be afraid!’  
Webber screamed again, but this time it sounded different. More urgent.  
Rubbing a gloved hand through his grey hair, Maxwell paused. Then he jogged back to the clearing, already feeling tired.  
Webber wasn’t where he’d left him.  
Maxwell walked among the trees, looking behind the fallen log. For a moment he could see himself sit there. Then the image faded.  
He stood still, listening for a sign of life. ‘Are you practicing your hiding again?’  
He pressed his hands to the small of his back, letting out a groan when something made a clicking sound. ‘I’ll tell you the story if you don’t make me search for you.’  
A rustling sound from the trees made him turn.  
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh.’

The creature looked down at him with a sense of malice. It was big, hunchbacked, and covered in dark green scales. Maxwell backed away as the smell of damp earth and cold fish wafted over from it.  
It grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him up over its head. It carried him with ease, joining a group of identical looking beings on their way through the woods.  
Craning his neck, Maxwell looked around. He let out a breath when he spotted the curled up shape of Webber.  
‘This is something else,’ he said, surprised at how normal his voice sounded.  
Webber didn’t respond. He looked tiny, held under a scale-covered arm.  
‘Is this one the person you saw?’ Maxwell asked. ‘Or that one over there? Or that one carrying the stick?’  
Slowly, Webber lifted his head to stare back at him from under his hoodie.  
‘None of them?’ A smile crept up Maxwell’s lips. He didn’t know what it was doing there. By all means, the situation wasn’t even remotely funny.  
Before Webber could form a response, the creatures dropped them into a cage. Which they then carried between four of their kind.  
Maxwell sat back, stretching his long legs as far as the cage allowed.  
‘It beats walking for now. But that depends on where this journey will end, I suppose.’

In the opposite corner, Webber grabbed the bars and shivered. He swallowed, tasting bile in his throat. Blinking fast, he looked back at Maxwell. ‘Y- you’re not scared?’  
‘I’m old, remember. We old people like to be comfortable. Might even be persuaded to take a nap.’  
The cage jostled them, making Webber squeal. The smell of sour fish permeating the air. He couldn’t think of anything further away from comfort.  
Webber sank down onto his knees. Where were they taking them? His heart beat loud in his ears and his fingers kept slipping on the bars.  
He studied Maxwell’s face. The man had closed his eyes, leaning back with his arms behind his head. How?

After a while, Webber sat down. But his hands wouldn’t let go of the cage. His breathing came fast, his eyes darting to the surrounding crowd: the bulging eyes, the hulking bodies. They looked strong, strong and hungry.  
‘Are you really asleep?’  
Maxwell shook his head.  
Webber pinched his eyes shut, breathing deep. He looked back. ‘Are you asleep now?’  
Again, Maxwell shook his head.  
They passed a spider nest, Webber watched it until he couldn’t see it anymore. The white webbing filled him with longing. It’s safe there!  
He crawled over to where Maxwell sat, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Are you asleep now?’  
Maxwell, eyes still closed, shook his head.  
Webber wrung his hands into his hoodie.  
He tried leaning back too, but his eyes wouldn’t shut on their own.  
He sat up straight. They’d left the trees behind and were entering a new area. 

Purple wetlands stretched out as far as the horizon, shimmering in the low sun. Here the dead trees stood like burnt up matchsticks against a foggy sky.  
Despite his fear, Webber stood up to see. ‘We’re somewhere else!’  
‘That usually happens when you walk a while.’  
Webber clenched his jaw. ‘I know that!’ He rubbed his face, the spider legs on either side of it twitching. ‘You’re being annoying on purpose.’  
‘Why would I do that?’  
The spider child balled his fists. Then he sat back down, deflated. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wouldn’t stop screaming.’  
Maxwell opened an eye to look at him. ‘This isn’t your fault.’  
Webber pressing his chin to his chest. He stamped his foot on the cage’s floor. ‘No, I mean that I was being mean to you on purpose. Being annoying because it was funny.’  
‘I knew it,’ Maxwell held up his fist. ‘You already were good at screaming.’  
Webber laughed, startling himself with the sound.  
The fish-people looked up at it too, deep gurgles bubbling up from their throats.  
Webber made himself small. For a moment he’d actually forgotten about them. He inched a little closer to Maxwell.  
Maxwell closed his eyes. 

When the cage came to a standstill, the creatures mounted it on a platform. One of them attached a rope to the top, throwing the rope over a sturdy tree branch next to them.  
A crowd gathered around the cage, gurgling with curiosity, or just out of habit.  
After a while, the crowd parted to let someone through. A tiny green figure, moving with a purpose. This figure stood still for a moment, looking up at the cage on its platform.  
It wore a green dress made out of dried seaweed, and she made her stumpy hands into fists. Shaking with an intensity that pinched her voice, she yelled:.  
‘No! Why can’t you listen!’ A slight gurgle accompanied her words when she yelled.  
‘You were supposed to lower it to the ground! Now I can’t-  
She sighed, massaging her temples. ‘Never mind! Kneel, yes you, Hregh. I need to get on your shoulders.’

Webber pressed his back into the bars. Balancing on the shoulders of a fish monster, stood a smaller fish monster. Stumpier, a little greener and with tiny horns on its head. One horn broken looked broken, framed by fan-like ears.  
‘Maxwell!’ It yelled.  
Maxwell started awake. ‘Yes?’  
The little fish girl looked taken aback, her shoulders sagged. ‘You were sleeping?’  
She shook her head, pointing a finger at him. ‘Trickery! I brought you here to atone for your sins!’ A silence filled the air as she waited for something to show on her prisoner's face.  
Maxwell tipped his head to one side. ‘You know me?’  
‘Not, personally. But I know of you! My people, the Merms, have suffered greatly because of you.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You and your games!’  
‘Sorry. I can’t say I recall.’  
Maxwell held up his open hands to appease her angry sounds of indignation. ‘I remember little these days. He added with a rueful smile: I’m getting old.’  
Then, with a smirk, he looked at Webber. ‘Is this the person you saw earlier?’  
Webber shook his head, speechless.  
‘I am Wurt!’ The little monster yelled with dignity and anger. ‘My people have been here before this world of yours came to be, and we will exist long after, now that it has crumbled.’  
‘Tell me about that,’ Maxwell said, pulling up his knees and leaning forward.  
Wurth slammed her tiny fist against the cage. ‘No! You tell ME things.’ She held up her arm. ‘Now!’  
Wurt stood there for a moment, but there was no help from the crowd.  
Breathing deep, she held up a tiny finger. ‘One moment?’  
Maxwell held up his arms, indicating that they had the time.  
She jumped down. 

After a lot of high-pitched shouting, one Merm pulled the rope. This made the cage swing sideways, dangling over the black water of a deep pond.  
Fish swam around down there, flashing silver in the darkness.  
Webber held the bars so tight his fingers hurt. He couldn’t remember how to breathe.  
‘Wurt,’ Maxwell sat up on his knees.  
The little creature, standing at the side of the pond, looked up at him.  
‘I think I remember certain things.’  
She scowled at him. ‘You do?’  
‘I have this feeling at the back of my mind.’  
‘What kind of feeling?’  
He nodded at the houses, standing a little away from the pond: a small village made of wood, reeds and other things from the marshlands. ‘That wasn’t here before. Those houses look decent, well built.’  
Wurt nodded, her voice became less pinched. ‘I built those. Well, I made my fellow Merms build them with me. There is more to us than you allowed for.’ For a moment her eyes became big and her chest stuck out while she spoke. ‘Real promise and endless possibility!’ Then she scowled, folding her arms.  
‘You held us back,’ she said.  
‘So many houses,’ Maxwell pressed a hand to his heart. ‘That looks like a lot of work and dedication went into it. And you’re so young, like Webber here.’  
Wurt shrugged. She glanced at Webber, as if noticing him for the first time. Her gaze went to the ground a second, before looking back at the man.  
Maxwell nodded. ‘I’m impressed. It seems that when you set your mind to something, you get it done. You want old Maxwell in a cage? Here he sits, incarcerated before breakfast. Dangling over the pit, so to say.’  
Wurt nodded, rubbing her jaw.  
‘Just look at those brothers of yours, standing in a straight line. You’d think they were savage, dangerous, unintelligent monsters.’ He chuckled. ‘Not at all! They’re well behaved, capable, and they follow your orders. You’re obviously very smart.’  
She scoffed. ‘Where are you going with this?’  
‘I just want to ask, do you have mercy?’  
Wurt opened her mouth, but he reached for her, grabbing the bars.  
‘Not for me. I think you know me better than I know myself. Thrilled to find out more. But Webber?’ He took a deep breath before going on. ‘Will you let him get hurt?’  
Webber blinked. 

Wurt blinked too. She glanced at the line of Merms at both sides of her. At the cage and its occupants. At Webber, hunched up and trembling.  
She twisted her hands into her dress, looking over her shoulder. Then she went away.  
The Merms stood there, blinking through the morning air, filling it with their gurgled breathing.  
Wurt maneuvered a long pole through the crowd, fastening the hook on its end to the cage.  
She struggled to pull the cage closer, making a Merm open the door.  
This close, she glared at Maxwell. ‘See how far your tricks get you.’  
He held up his hands, leaning away from the door. ‘No tricks.’ Then he picked up Webber and handed him off to a Merm.  
Webber was put down on the damp earth. He stood there, waiting.  
‘Look at him, what could he do to anyone?’ Maxwell asked the crowd. ‘Just run off and leave me here, Webber?’  
Webber swallowed, his eyes darted from Maxwell, to Wurt, to the rows of Merms.  
‘Flee?’ Maxwell asked the crowd for its honest opinion.  
Webber fled.  
Wurt let the cage swing back across the pond, her by now familiar scowl back on her face. ‘Happy now?’  
Maxwell felt happy, but he didn’t know why. The water cast a cold, mirror reflection back up at him. And now he was all alone.  
Wurt shook her head, watching Webber run away into the distance. ‘The swamp is dangerous to all but its people. Dunk him.’  
The merm holding the rope let go and Maxwell went down into the pond.  
It was colder than he could have imagined. Holding the bars, holding his breath, Maxwell let go of any hope this would have a pleasant ending. Fish dashed past him while his lungs ached for fresh air.  
The cage shot back up, knocking him down, draining the heavy water from his clothes.  
Wurt folded her arms and shook her head. ‘Again!’  
The cage plummeted down before he could breathe.  
Back underwater, Maxwell looked at his knuckles, at the shadows creeping in around his vision. Maybe almost drowning would jostle his memory? He waited while his body writhed in desperation. It was going to breathe soon, and it did not care that it was underwater.  
At least I got to stretch my legs, he caught himself thinking. What a strange thought. Then he breathed in pond water. 

Maxwell couldn’t remember how many times he’d gone down and back up. He coughed up water from his lungs, lying on his side and shivering on the hard boards. And nothing Wurt kept yelling at him made any sense.  
‘You pushed us down and out of sight,’ Wurt said from the pond’s edge. ‘For decades, you twisted this world. Treated is like your toy. Who knows how far our civilisation would have come, had you not tampered with everything? I grew up in the dark, but it helped me see the light!’  
Maxwell wheezed, lifting himself up on his elbows. ‘I’m so-’  
‘Down!’  
Wurt watched the cage sink to the bottom. ‘Sorry will not cut it. Don’t even try.’ 

Webber ran without looking. He held his eyes shut with his hands and spider legs. Something bubbled underneath him, but whatever swiped at him across the air, missed.  
He ran until he dashed head first into a tree.  
Dazed, Webber sat up. He gasped. Somehow he’d made it back to the forest!  
Now what? What do I do? Everything is terrible!  
Webber sat back and let out a wail. At first he thought it echoed back to him, but then the wail called to him again from between the trees.  
Webber stood, his feet walking on their own, following the sound.  
It sounded just like him.  
Before he saw the silk, he knew where he was.  
Home.  
A big spider nest, the silk trappings draped delicately between the trees. He stepped onto the white, smooth floor and there they were.  
Smaller than him, only as big as his head, their fanged mouths hanging open and snarling. But they didn’t snarl in arger at him. They were welcoming him back.  
Webber fell to his knees and crawled after them.

Inside the nest it was dark and dry. Webber made himself comfortable, pressed up against fellow hairy bodies, stacked everywhere around him, hanging by threads. They weren’t warm. Only he was warm.  
Webber curled up and closed his eyes. Finally. He leaning back and let out a breath he’d been holding since forever.  
Safe.  
It’s not very cozy, he had to admit. He turned onto his other side.  
Yes, but it’s dry, he also thought.  
Webber fidgeted, trying to become more comfortable. Why is everyone lying so still?  
It’s daytime, he reminded himself. We sleep during the day.  
‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’  
He lay there, staring at the thin shimmer of light from above, listening to the hoarse breathing around him. Something wasn’t right.  
I want to run around; he thought.  
He shook his head. ‘It’s dangerous to go out alone.’  
‘What do you think they’ll do to Maxwell?’  
‘Dunk him, for sure.’  
He frowned at himself. ‘Really?’  
‘For sure. He is an evil man.’  
Webber nodded. ‘That’s true.’ He paused. ‘But does it count if he doesn’t know that?’  
‘Maybe they’ll remind him? She knows him.’  
‘She said she didn’t, not really. What if-’  
A spider tapped its leg against a particular spot on Webber’s face, and he closed his eyes.  
A ripple of calm went through the nest. Everything was quiet. As it should be. The noises from the world outside didn’t make it far beyond the silk cocoon of their home. There was real safety in numbers here, now with one more, and everyone dreamed as one.  
Webber pulled out the green steak from his inventory. ‘Anyone want a snack?’

The nest exploded and a wave of spider bodies poured out.  
Webber stumbled through them, trying to get ahead. ‘We don’t have enough for everybody! Oh, no!’  
He hopped, and his two legs got some distance between him and the others. They followed.  
‘You know, I just want to say goodbye to him!’ He put the steak away and ran back to the swamp.  
Webber felt a surge of panic then he saw the sky. He’d stayed inside longer than he wanted. It was getting dark. 

Maxwell gasped, opening his eyes as a sharp pain hit him in the ribs.  
Wurt took back her pole. ‘Refreshed from your little nap? You really are getting old. That is your second one today, isn’t it?’  
‘Why d'you wake me up, is it mealtime already?’  
Wurt sneered, then tossed him a clump of wet seaweed. It hit his shoulder and stuck there.  
‘That’s all you’re getting,’ she said. ‘Better get used to it. You’ll be here for a while, at the pace you’re answering questions.’  
Maxwell let out a sigh. He no longer felt like smiling. ‘I take it you won’t believe me when I say-’  
He flinched as she raised her arm. The memory of the cold water, the only one fresh in his mind.  
She shook her head, smiling.  
‘Sleep tight, old man. Tomorrow will be filled with more swimming lessons.’  
Maxwell pulled his legs up close to his body.  
The merms spread out through the village. They seemed less focused at the end of the day.  
Occasionally they’d tried to have a go at him, gargling and wading into the pond. But then Wurt had flung a live fish at them, making them behave.  
How long would that last? He wasn’t getting his memory back anytime soon, it seemed. 

A lonely torch burned on the shore, getting brighter as dusk settled in. Maxwell stared at the fiery ripples it made on the surface. That’s me: a reflection of something that used to be real and alive. A burning force of ill intent, apparently. .  
Between trips down into the water, she had accused him of all kinds of grandiose things. Things that seemed impossible. Insane.  
Rule the world with an iron fist? Twist the fabric of time? Lure innocent people to their deaths? Inviting a usurper into their midst? And all of it only for his amusement?  
He rubbed his hand to his forehead.  
What?  
I can’t even cook.  
Webber had called him an evil man. Insisted on it.  
How could they know him? What if their accusations were true?  
Maxwell looked at his silhouette on the water.  
Was this the body of an evil man?  
Evil or not, his body was very cold, and damp. Maxwell examined his sleeve. I hope the water didn’t ruin my suit. He did chuckle at that. What a strange priority to have.  
During the night, he resisted the urge to curl up and shiver. Choosing to sit up straight. It was important to appear dapper. Though it was difficult to explain why. And for whom.  
He tried the seaweed. Then tossed it down into the pond.  
Where fish ate it. 

‘Maxwell!’ someone hissed at daybreak.  
He looked down and saw the silhouette of a spider child standing by the water.  
He squinted at it. ‘Webber? I told you to run away.’  
‘I didn’t listen.’  
‘I can see that.’  
From the village, sounds of fighting echoed over to them.  
‘What did you do?’ Maxwell leaned forward, eyebrows raised.  
Webber made a few starts to an explanation, then gave up. ‘Things just happened!’  
Small, hurried footsteps approached from the chaos of the village.  
Wurt held a spear in one hand, her eyes livid. ‘You’re not getting away!’  
Webber looked at her, then took a deep breath and pushed her over.  
She fell on her butt, then dropped the spear and started to cry uncontrollably.  
Snatching up the spear, Webber climbed onto the platform. Then he cut the rope.  
Maxwell reacted out too late, calling: ‘Wait!’ While the cage broke the surface and sank down.  
Webber slapped his forehead, watching the rope end sink underneath the surface. He jumped after it. 

This is it, Maxwell thought, as the rushing water pushed him to the roof of the cage. Then the cage clanged onto the bottom.  
I’m fish food.  
His body sank down. The pressure on his chest was crushing, the darkness absolute.  
Something banged against the bars, the sound distorted and sharp in his mind.  
Maxwell didn’t know which way was up.  
He reached out and hurt his hand on something sharp.  
A spear.  
Ladies and Gentlemen, he told the audience in his mind. For my next trick, I shall escape from this submerged cage ...alive!  
He gripped the spear. Thank you, for your attention. Do not look away, for you’ll miss it  
He fumbled until he found the lock, then rammed the spear into it, twisting this way and that.  
The scratchy sounds didn’t seem promising. How could this work?  
Magic?  
It may seem tricky, but that’s why I am: Maxwell the Amazing Magician!’  
The door clicked open, and he swam out.  
Looking up, he could see Webber floating freely above.  
He scooped him up in his arms and kept swimming for the surface. Old Maxwell, he thought, still kicking. Come on legs, what else are you going to do with your precious freedom?  
Breaking through the watery grip, Maxwell gasped, sucking in the rich air of the marsh.  
‘Tadaa!’  
There was no-one to see. Spiders fought Merms, and the Merms were winning.  
He dragged Webber to shore, hitting him on the back and shaking him.  
The boy coughed up water, blinking his eyes awake.  
Maxwell tucked him under his shoulder and ran for it.

Limping, scratched up and bleeding, Maxwell made it back to the forest.  
He somehow made it back to their base. Where he made a fire as the day darkened once more.  
He was started out of his thoughts by Webber’s voice.  
‘Sorry, what did you say?’  
‘Do you think they all died, the spiders?’  
Maxwell took one look at Webber’s face. ‘Never! There were way too many. I think I saw them run away when we did.’  
Webber dropped his head, pressing it against his knees.  
‘They followed me there,’ he said. ‘Because of this.’ He held out the horrible steak.  
Maxwell took it, resenting the stiff, sodden texture. He threw it into the crock pot, where it bubbled. He added some extra items at random from his pockets and hoped for a miracle.  
He cleared his throat in the heavy silence. ‘There once was a boy, and he… lived in a village.’  
Webber looked up.  
‘And there was a forest, too.’ Maxwell held up his finger. ‘And this boy went around that village where he lived. And he liked to pretend that there was a wolf. He yelled wolf! Wolf! And he uh, this got everybody worried for nothing.’  
The corner of Webber’s mouth lifted.  
Maxwell, a laugh in his voice now but continuing on. ‘But then one day the wolf was real and nobody came when the boy cried Wolf. Then the boy was eaten. The end.’  
Webber threw out his hands. ‘What was that!’  
‘That was your story.’  
The boy laughed, holding his head to contain what he had just heard. ‘That was terrible!’  
Maxwell looked down his nose at him. ‘It’s all I got for you.’  
‘I’m glad there isn’t more!’  
The crock pot stopped moving, and a dish popped up.  
‘Here.’ Maxwell said, handing it over. ‘Good luck.’  
Webber took it, still incredulous. ‘I’m going to need it… actually this smells good.’  
He took a bite of the wobbling layers of meat and other things.  
‘How is it?’ Maxwell asked, his lips pursed.  
‘Webber wagged his feet while he chewed. It feels like it’s biting me back while I’m eating it. I like it!’  
Maxwell shivered at the thought. ‘I’m glad you do, so I don’t have to.’  
Webber swallowed his meal. ‘What are you going to eat?’  
‘I have these stale berries that I like. You know, because I’m old.’  
Webber drew a circle in the dirt with his finger. ‘You’re not that old. You can still run quick.’ Without thinking, he turned the circle into a spider web. Webber frowned at the result, rubbing it out with his arm.  
Maxwell ate his berries. ‘I appreciate you saying that.’  
After a while Webber sat up. ‘You really don’t know any more stories?’  
‘No. But I can tell you the one about the boy and the wolf again.’  
‘No thanks.’  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’  
They settled in for the night, lying on the dirt by the fire. 

In the woods all alone, Winona swung her torch at shadows in the dark.


	14. Things old and things new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, 
> 
> A new chapter awaits! Needed to be in the right mindset to make it worth your while.   
> Hope this update finds you well.   
> Now I have some time, I'm already onto the next one. Don't you worry <3

Wilson dropped the torch as it went out, cursing while the darkness pounced on him. Crafting without thought, he raised his new torch high, dispelling the shadows with a cold rush of air.  
‘There’s got to be a way to make these last longer,’ he breathed. ‘Or at least have your hands free.’  
Chester barked at him.  
‘Yes,’ Wilson crooned, petting his dog between the ears. ‘I know you’ll protect me.’  
A new package lay underneath the tree in front of him, tucked between the roots. Wilson collected it and made a fire. ‘Thanks Charlie,’ he whispered, ‘not much longer now.’  
He rummaged through the contents, frowning at what he found among the usual items.  
The glass tube glinted in the light, sending a shiver up his back. ‘A syringe?’ His mouth twitched, and he rubbed the inside of his arm.  
‘Don’t see what we’ll need that for.’  
With a shrug, he placed everything in his inventory and headed back to their campsite.  
‘She’ll have a good reason for it.’ 

Charlie paced the length of the rose carpet, holding her head. The sounds were muffled, a small mercy, but she could still hear her sister.  
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, holding out her hands to the sounds of distress in the darkness beyond. ‘He’ll be right there. Just hold on a little longer.’  
She touched her fingers to her bottom lip. Winona had always been ...resilient. Headstrong, yes, but that meant being resilient too.  
A smile crept up her lips, and her expression hardened. You could have called it proud, even. She tilted her head to one side, standing alone in the gloom.  
‘Oh sister, I thought you were better than everyone else at handling hardship?’  
She clasped her hands to her heart. ‘You certainly scolded me enough, for not being like you.’  
Her hands became fists, and her back straightened. ‘Why didn’t you just eat something? Pick some flowers? Now you’re out of your mind and starving, and of no use to anyone.’  
Charlie shook her head. Wilson would have to teach her how to survive. Then everything would be okay.  
She covered her eyes with a hand and smiled. ‘Soon we’ll be laughing about this! When everything is over and done with.’  
She resumed her pacing, spinning slowly at every turn. 

The sun was already up when Wilson made it back.  
The others were watching the crock pot cook. Wes waved him over, handing him a plate. Wigfrid made a space for him at the fire.  
Wilson’s expression softened as he sat down. ‘Thank you,’ he said, looking away.  
‘It’s breakfast for workers that work hard,’ Wigfrid said, accepting her own plate from Wes.  
Wilson ate the dish in one bite, patting his belly. ‘Meatballs, my favorite.’ He nodded his chin at the crock pot. ‘Wes, you eat too. Don’t forget.’  
Wes held up his thumb, already reloading the pot with meat and berries.  
‘Really?’ Wigfrid asked, sitting back on her heels. ‘I like the stew more. More meat, more ...filling.’ She rubbed the back of her head. ‘I don’t know if I always liked strew best, like forever.’  
Wilson sat back, holding his knees. He was not quite ready to start on the day’s chores. ‘I’m not sure what my favorite was before, either.’ There didn’t seem to be much food to remember with fondness. It had never been the center of his necessities like today. Which he couldn’t fathom anymore.  
He glanced sideways. ‘Wes?’  
Wes held out his hands, grabbing their attention. He pretended to flip a pan over the flames.  
Wigfrid sat up, a gleam in her eyes. ‘Eggs!’ she yelled. ‘Steak! More eggs! Eggs with steak!’  
Chester jumped up and down, yapping at the sudden excitement.  
Wes shook his head, making the invisible pan flip something high in the air, watching it spin with animated eyes.  
Wilson snapped his fingers. ‘I know. Pancakes!’  
Pointing at Wilson, Wes gestured for him to elaborate. He then caught whatever the pan flung in the air, and flattened it between his hands, making sure it became very thin.  
With a tap to the side of his nose, Wilson sat back. ‘Crepes, excellent.’  
Contended, Wes clapped his hands at Wilson, making a sad face at Wigfrid and shaking his head.  
They laughed as a group and the sun rose from behind the trees.  
After Wes had eaten too, they packed up their camp and marched on. There had been a lot of walking the last couple of days, with nothing but trees and little ponds to show for it.

‘It makes no sense to build the machine anywhere else,’ Wilson said. ‘We need a solid base and we should be almost at mine.’ He paused, closing his eyes.  
The others flanked him, prepared for the sudden stop.  
‘It’s strange…’ Wilson said, lowering his voice.  
Wigfrid, her spear in hand, scanned the lush forest around them. ‘What is?’  
The scientist blinked, then shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.’  
Though it shouldn’t be taking us this long, he thought to himself. The world is the same. But not really. It feels… larger. 

‘That, is new.’ Wilson stared at the hill that dominated the landscape in front of them. The way it loomed filled him with a deep sense of deep unease. But what made it so unnerving?  
It had an unnatural blueness to it that seemed to trick the eye. Fog drifted past bulbous looking trees, seeming to shift through them. The strange patch of land shimmered, but in a way that irritated the eye.  
It just looks off, somehow. Wilson rolled his shoulder, taking a step back.  
Looking at Wilson, Wes gave the hilltop an evil glare, then folded his arms and refused to look at it again.  
‘Is it dangerous?’ Wigfrid wanted to know.  
Wilson shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen this before. It doesn’t belong here.’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
The hill looked enormous on the map, surrounded by water on both sides, it blocked their way but for one small road way off to the left.  
‘We’ll have to go over it,’ he decided.  
Before they could make a move, a little green creature sprang up from behind a stone. ‘Not step!’ It called out, holding out stick-like arms. 

Wes looked over to the others, then frowned at the thing that was definitely there. The creature looked more root than person. Its wrinkled, bark-like skin made it appear old, but the small body was more like that of a baby. It stood firm, though it didn’t look them in the eyes, barring their way.  
‘Not step on,’ it said in a way that seemed rehearsed. ‘Go round.’  
Wigfrid pointed her spear at it. ‘Fossegrim, you are far from water. But are you far from your tricks? Never.’  
It hunched up a little at this, but didn’t move out of the way.  
With a smile, Wilson tipped his head to one side. ‘Why?,’ he asked, kneeling to see it better.  
A shiny green gemstone shone from the creature’s chest. It smelled of earth and sap.  
The creature's big white eyes stared back into his. ‘Bad place,’ it said, and looked down at its feet again.  
Wilson straightened back up. Everyone looked at him for a decision.  
He rubbed his eyes. For a moment his heartbeat was loud in his ears and the world spun around him.  
How did it get to this? Two people dependent on him, and now a strange, sad looking creature telling him what to do. The world was asking new things of him, different ways he had to navigate to survive. And he was not surviving alone.  
The hill spooked him. He imagined Wes dying, a tentacle going through his chest. Wigfrid being torn apart by hounds. He shook his head.  
With a sigh, he opened his eyes. ‘Fine. We’ll go round.’  
Wigfrid gaped at him, letting her arms hang at her sides. ‘Just like that?’  
He shrugged. ‘I have a bad feeling about this hill. Now there’s this little guy, warning us.’ He held out his hands. ‘Why risk it? Do you want to go over at all costs? Want to stab this… what’s your name?’  
The creature blinked. ‘I have name,’ it said. ‘A real one.’ They watched it shuffle its feet.  
They waited as it rubbed its face with little leaf hands.  
A bird flew over. Somewhere, a frog croaked.  
‘Wormwood is my name,’ Wormwood said.  
Wilson looked at the warrior. ‘You want to stab Wormwood?’  
Wigfrid pursed her lips, inspecting the trees on the hill. Pale flowers bloomed in the mist. The land looked vacant; an empty face, but that of someone with something to hide. Still as it lay, the hill seemed alive, and if you looked at the pale grass, it had a sharp flicker to it.  
‘It looks eerie,’ she said, suppressing a shiver. ‘And the little creature is not much of a fight.’  
‘I’m full of sap and berries,’ Wormwood said, sticking out his tiny chest.  
Wilson folded his arms. ‘Wes?’  
Wes shook his head at the question, marching away on the spot and saluting.  
Nodding, Wilson pointed left. ‘There’s a road up ahead, we’ll make better progress there. You have a nice day, Wormwood.’

Wigfrid looked back while they walked. Wormwood waved at her. She stuck out her tongue.  
Why was Wilson just giving up without a fight? She didn’t really want to go up that hill. But… it felt like not even trying.  
‘I just need us all healthy and in one piece,’ Wilson said. ‘Why push it? We have work to do.’  
Wigfrid blushed, she polished her helmet to hide her face.  
Wilson sighed. ‘Something happened to the world while I was away. It… grew, or stretched? I’m not sure. But there are new things in it, creatures... and land, apparently. It’s less lonely.’  
Helmet shined, Wigfrid put it back on her head. ‘You were here alone?’  
‘Let’s focus on today,’ the scientist said. ‘We are a team. We are the survivors that will get out and get on with their lives.’  
He held up his spear, Wigfrid joined in. Wes, fumbling to find his, held up a stick to be included. 

They’d made some excellent progress, the blue hill slowly fading in the gloom, always in sight beside them. Then Wes pointed at something on the ground.  
Wigfrid kicked at the drops of red between the green grass. ‘Rose petals?’  
Picking on up, Wilson’s eyes grew serious as he spotted the trail they made.  
‘We have to follow this,’ he said, already walking towards the distant pine trees.  
‘Why?’ Wigfrid asked.  
But he didn’t hear her, and they ran to keep up as he went ahead into the coming dark.  
Deeper in the forest, things lay strewn across the grass. Pieces of wood and metal that made little sense on their own.  
Wigfrid tripped over a metal pipe, kicking it away. ‘What is this junk?’  
Wilson picked up a roll of something shiny that he didn’t recognize. It reflected silver in the low light. Looks important, he thought.  
Then they heard the cries.  
Wigfrid sped past him, quicker on her feet. She was the first one to see her.  
A woman, her dark hair unkept and her face a mask of terror.  
Wigfrid stepped closer, reaching out her hand. ‘What’s wrong. Are you-’  
‘Don’t!’ Wilson pulled her back in time before the woman could swing at her.  
She looked strong, or at least what she was seeing made her use all her strength.  
Wes stayed back, holding onto a tree.  
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Wigfrid stared at the woman. ‘She looks crazed.’  
Wilson averted his gaze. It was hard to look at someone so out of it and in agony. There was no reasoning with someone that didn’t have any reason left. They didn’t care about their own body’s limitations.  
He combed his fingers through his hair. Now, the syringe made sense.  
‘I can’t fight her,’ Wigfrid said, ‘I’ll have to injure her to get her down. ...not even sure I’d win. Wilson?’  
‘Distract her,’ he said, ‘I just have to get close enough.’

Wigfrid waved her arms. ‘Hey,’ she tried to smile. ‘Hello! Um...’  
But the woman was too alert to let them trick her. Her eyes stayed on Wilson and she growled at them, pressing her back to a tree. She screamed something they didn’t understand. Lashing out and hitting a shape, outlined for a second, before it vanished.  
Wigfrid gasped. ‘There’s something there! Greasy shadow being! Monster!’  
‘Yeah,’ Wilson nodded. ‘They’ll want to eat her. That’s what happens.’  
Wigfrid frowned. ‘What… happens?’  
He held up his hand, the one behind his back holding the syringe ‘This isn’t working. We might have to rush her, together.’  
The woman gnashed her teeth; she squared down. Her dark pupils were like pinpricks, dashing from Wilson to Wigfrid.  
‘She’s injured,’ Wigfrid pointed at her leg. ‘Don’t let it get her.’  
Wilson noticed the rose vines, shackling the woman to the tree. The thorns dug deep into her flesh, drawing blood, but keeping her in this spot to be found.  
His hand clutched the syringe, he swallowed.  
Wigfrid lashed out with her spear, hitting the shadow and making it visible again. ‘There you are!’ She struck it again, making it explode into goop.  
‘There will be more,’ Wilson said. ‘We have to be quick.’  
A loud bang made them all jump. They looked behind them, to where Wes stood.

Wes blinked. His hair had been blown back, and he wavered a little to keep his balance. Then he made another balloon animal. A green dog.  
The woman stared at the bright green shape floating towards her. She reached for it, a temporary relief of terror making way for childlike wonder.  
Wilson clamped his arm around her head and stuck the syringe into her neck.  
The woman flung him off against a tree. She fell to her knees, breathing hard, tearing the empty syringe from her neck. She groaned and writhed, fighting sleep. But her cries of frustration weakened and she sank down further onto the grass.  
‘It’s okay,’ Wigfrid said. ‘Just take a rest.’  
The woman stared at her, her frantic breathing slowing down, until unconsciousness finally took her.  
‘That was awful,’ Wigfrid said, holding herself. ‘Awful.’  
‘Yes.’ Wilson unfurled himself from underneath the tree. ‘G-good job, Wes.’  
Wes gave them a thumbs up.  
‘It’s getting dark,’ Wilson said, his voice quiet. ‘We need a fire.’

As they stood over the woman, the damage became apparent. The vines had dug deep gashes around her legs and arms, even her neck.  
Wigfrid stood still. ‘Will she be okay, when she wakes up? No longer crazed?’  
Nodding, Wilson untangled the vines, pricking his own fingers in the vicious thorns.  
‘She fought bravely,’ Wigfrid said, kicking a pile of goop. There were many of them lying around the tree.  
‘We need a light,’ Wilson said with urgency.  
Wes built a small log fire, keeping the shadows back. 

Together, Wilson and Wigfrid brought the woman to the fire’s glow and warmth.  
Wes had crafted her a sleeping mat, and they watched her lie there.  
Wilson was bandaging her leg when he paused. He checked her pulse.  
‘It’s way too fast. This isn’t good. She’s starving.’  
The woman groaned, moving her head from side to side.  
He pressed down on her legs. ‘She’s going to wake up, Wes!’  
Wes got behind her just in time, pressing down on her shoulders.  
Now it was Wigfrid’s turn to stand back. She shook her head, eyes big.  
‘I need something to feed her,’ Wilson patted his pockets. ‘Berries! Keep her head still. Wigfrid!’  
Wigfrid wasn’t listening.  
Wilson shoved them down the woman’s throat himself, clamping his hands on her mouth. She had to eat when he fed her. A small mercy.  
She kicked and strained, but they were stronger.  
Wilson fed her morsels until her pulse went down and she stopped fighting, the drug taking over again. But she had such strength, every muscle in her body coiling up.  
They forced her to stay onto the mat, holding her down until she slept.  
Wilson wiped his forehead, his voice shaken. Giving Wes’ shoulder a squeeze. ‘Thank you.’  
He looked over to where Wigfrid should be. ‘Wigfrid?’  
She was gone.  
Wes got up, ready to go.  
Wilson, opening his eyes, shook his head.  
‘It’s fine. She has her own fire. Let’s give her some space.’ 

Back in the pink gloom, Charlie held her knees and took deep breaths. She sat hidden away into her cushioned chair at the top of the little stairs. Tears streaked her face, and she pressed her head into her knees. Shaking, she let out a breath. 

The morning light found a small campfire going out.  
And a woman tied to a tree.  
‘I’m sorry,’ Wilson said.  
The woman glared at him. She writhed against the restraints.  
Wilson pointed his finger at her. ‘No.’ He rubbed his blacked eye. Behind him, Wes was inspecting the bite wound on his arm.  
‘You’ve got to come back to your senses,’ Wilson pleaded. ‘This is Meatballs, they’re good for you.’  
The woman strained away from him, but the ropes wouldn’t let her.  
He took her head and fed them to her, a heavy feeling in his stomach. But when he let go, her eyes remained unfocused and her movements erratic.  
Wilson pressed his fist to his palm. ‘Flowers.’  
‘Wes, we need to-’ He looked back to see Wes, picking up goop, a tall shadow creeping up on him.  
He jumped to his feet. ‘Wes!’  
A spear caught the half-visible shape in mid-lunge and made it explode.  
Wigfrid tore her spear from the tree it had ended up in, not making eye contact with any of them. She took up a place next to the woman, standing straight, her helmet shading her eyes.

Wilson looked from her, to Wes, to the woman. Now there were three. Where had they been when he was going insane for some company? Had Maxwell kept them locked up somewhere too? To keep him dependent on him alone. It wouldn’t surprise him.  
He went over the “junk” lying around the clearing. The different shapes hinted at meaning to him, some wood here, a gleaming piece of metal. Had she done this? The shiny band in his inventory maddened him. What did it do? He wanted to ask her.  
‘We’re almost at the road,’ he said. ‘One day’s march should do it.’  
They ended up walking the woman between Wigfrid and Wes. A rope held between them, wrapped around her waist, kept her from running off. Wilson had secured her hands behind her back, feeling guilty.  
‘It’s the only way, sorry. Soon you’ll be alright again.’  
He looked back at her while picking flowers as they went. She’d given up struggling now, her head bent. Soon they’d have to carry her. Wilson hurried.  
‘I have enough,’ he called over, running back. ‘Let her down.’  
Kneeling by her side in the spring grass, Wilson braided flowers into the woman’s hair. A thin sheen of sweat stood out on her pale skin, with deep rings underneath her eyes she looked close to death. Her breathing came faint and irregular. Wilson held her hand, hoping the flower crown did its work.  
Wigfrid held her spear so tight her knuckles stood out, Wes hopped from one foot onto the other.  
Then the woman blinked, and for the first time her eyes focused.  
She frowned at Wilson, trying to form words.  
Wilson smiled, letting go of her hand. ‘Hello, feeling more like yourself again?’  
She closed her eyes, shaking her head in a curt “no.” Tired, her voice cracking, she strained her body against the ropes. ‘Tied up.’  
A blush crept up Wilson’s face, and he freed her. ‘You were... a little out of it. Do you know your name? I’m Wilson, and this is Wigfrid and Wes.’  
Wigfrid held up her hand. ‘Hi. You are very strong.’  
Holding up his arm that showed the bite mark, Wes nodded.  
The woman rubbed her wrists, ignoring them. Then she stood, grabbing onto Wilson to not fall back down. She shook her head. ‘Makes little sense, nothing makes sense.’ She rubbed her hands across her face. ‘Don’t feel good.’  
Wilson held her arm. ‘Can you walk? We don’t have that much further to go. We’re already on the road, should not be far to my old base.’  
She nodded, taking a step and then another one. ‘Just...going through it.’ She looked up, her dark eyes reflecting the dismal sunlight of the spring’s afternoon. Wilson frowned, there was something very familiar about her. He couldn’t quite place it.  
As they walked he smiled back at his two companions. Things were looking up. 

Something had destroyed his base. Wilson went over his ruined chests and what used to be the firepit. There was a lot to rebuild.  
Wigfrid pressed her foot into the mud next to a deep claw print. ‘Hounds.’  
The woman sat against the only thing still standing, a large boulder. Wes was keeping her company, his arms folded and looking at the clouds.  
‘Why would they attack the base?’ Wilson asked. ‘They usually only attack…’ his voice trailed off as his eye caught movement. Two figures came out of the woods, heading straight for them.  
A tall person was limping, carrying another, smaller person.  
Before he had time to look properly, the smaller shape wiggled loose and the tall person dropped them. They hit the ground running, running towards him.  
Wilson held out his hands without thinking, catching the ...boy, in his hands. He lifted him up.  
This is heavy, he thought. This is my responsibility.  
He frowned, hugging the boy to his chest, and he noticed they were both shaking. The world pressed in on him, and he knew with his whole self that this boy was in this world because of him. Feeling light-headed, he realised; I never want to put him back down.  
‘Wilson?’ Wigfrid asked with hesitation.  
‘It’s my son,’ he said, and he held the boy up, placing him on his shoulders. ‘This is my son.’  
Then he frowned and looked up at him. ‘What’s your name?’  
‘I’m Webber, dad.’  
‘Oh, right.’  
Webber nodded, pressing his head against him and letting out a sigh.  
A deep growl drew their attention. Chester stood with his fur on end, teeth bared.  
Wilson turned to see what made him react like this. An icy chill settled over him when he saw, stopping his breath in his throat. Someone very familiar had just walked up to them.  
His mouth opened, but there was no sound he could make that would express what he felt.  
‘You’re dead,’ he said. Balling his fists.  
‘That’s Maxwell,’ Webber said. ‘He helped me.’  
Maxwell stopped, taking a step back. ‘I think your father knows me?’ He held up his hands.  
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Wilson said. Placing Webber on the ground and grabbing his spear. 

Maxwell sighed, pointing a thumb behind him. ‘There’s a line, I’m afraid. Maybe you can take turns?’  
Sounds from the forest announced the approach of something. Wilson didn’t care, he couldn’t hear anything over his racing heartbeat. I’m going to beat him to death with my fists.  
And then I’m going to do it again and again!  
‘Dad!’ Webber pulled at his pants’ leg. ‘They found us. We ran away from the hounds and then we ran into them. And they really hate Maxwell, too.’  
Maxwell rubbed his chin. ‘It seems to be a big club, are you the club captain?’  
Wilson took a slow breath through gritted teeth. He pointed at Maxwell. ‘You’re dead.’  
‘Dead and buried,’ Maxwell assured him.  
‘You wait here,’ he told Webber.  
Webber nodded.  
‘Wigfrid?’  
She was already there, spear in hand and looking ready to fight.  
Together, the two of them approached the waiting horde. 

Wilson saw something was different. Merm’s didn’t stand around like that. And he had never seen this many. Their numbers went all the way back into the trees.  
There was a smaller Merm that looked in charge. He walked up to her until there were just a couple of steps between them.  
She stuck out her chest; her gurgling voice rang out over the treetops. ‘There you are, usurper!’  
Wilson blinked.  
She pointed a stubby finger at him. ‘You killed the king of our enemies and laid their village to waste.’  
Wilson stared at her. Is it me, is my brain not working?  
She sighed. ‘You killed pig king! You took his throne. Where are your pigs!’  
‘Oh.’  
She placed her hands on her waist. ‘Oh? OH! They are our food in winter! What did you do to them?’  
Wilson looked at his hands. Then up at the sky. ‘I don’t- have to explain a thing.’  
She put a hand to her fanned ear. ‘Speak louder, usurper!’  
He bent forward, making two of the Merm guards flinch.  
Wigfrid motioned her spear at them. ‘Try it, fish brains.’  
‘I don’t have any pigs for you,’ he said, his eyes cold and his smile empty. ‘Don’t ask me.’  
She swallowed and there was a waver in her voice. ‘You just took them away?’  
Wilson stared her down, until she blinked and averted her eyes. Then he straightened up. Everything in his posture now distant.

From somewhere behind, Webber called out: ‘Hey Wurt, go away! Leave my dad alone!’  
Wurt shook with a sudden rage. ‘Don’t think I’ll show you mercy again, son of the usurper!’  
She folded her arms and stuck out her chin. ‘Give up Maxwell, then we’ll leave.’  
Wilson snorted. ‘You want Maxwell? Why?’  
Webber was quick to answer. ‘They put him in a cage! Then they dunk him in the water.’  
Wilson glanced back. A little group had formed by the boulder. And there was Maxwell. He didn’t look like Maxwell, somehow. Maybe because he was standing next to a mime without noticing.  
He had to look away because the urge to punch became too much.  
His fist itched for it, he pressed it into his stomach.  
The thought of seeing the man go under made him smile. Then he sighed, because he knew what he was going to say.  
Eyes closed, he folded his arms. ‘No.’  
Wurt blinked. ‘What?’  
He smiled down at her. ‘No. I need all the help I can get to escape from this place. I won’t let you take anyone from me.’  
She laughed, incredulous. ‘Don’t you see my army? I can take whoever I want. I can take you.’  
Wilson relaxed, rolling his shoulder. ‘You’re not sure.’ He paced to one side and all the eyes followed him. ‘You’re afraid I’ll do to you, what I did to Pig king. You saw the destruction.’  
‘I-’  
‘I will,’ he said, his voice soft but very audible in the heavy silence. He walked back and placed his hands on his knees, squatting to look at her. ‘I’ll destroy all of your eighteen little huts and I’ll burn down that fence you put up in the middle of your village.’ He looked into her eyes as they filled with tears and lowered his voice even more, smiling with a kindness that didn’t match his tone at all.  
‘I’ll walk up to that little woven carpet, and I’ll have you watch, as I kill your king.’  
He patted her shoulder and her guards stood back when he did. ‘I’ll just take it all away from you, understand?’  
She nodded, openly crying now.  
He clapped his hands, making them jump. ‘So you run off and you stay in your swamp. We won’t bother you, you don’t bother us. Allright?’  
Another nod.  
Off they went, in silence and rather quick. 

Webber jumped onto him. ‘Dad, you’re a savage! How did you know?’  
He took Webber into his arms again, his heart racing in his chest. ‘Know what?’  
‘About the village?’  
‘I have a map in my head,’ he said.  
‘Do I have one too?’  
‘No. And be glad that you don’t.’  
He put Webber down. ‘Wigfrid, good job.’  
Wigfrid blew out a breath. ‘You terrified the bejeebers out of that girl.’  
‘I just don’t want any trouble,’ Wilson said. Then he noticed there were fewer people by the boulder than before. ‘Where’s Maxwell and the woman?’ 

‘I knew it,’ he said, running through the forest. ‘He’s taken her as a hostage!’  
Webber was running beside him, everyone was.  
‘How do you know where he is?’ The child asked. ‘Are you tracking him?’  
Wigfrid looked up, even Wes did. Curious for the answer.  
Wilson rubbed at his temples. He was getting a headache. All the shouting and checking the map was draining him. ‘I just know where people are, okay.’  
‘Okay.’  
Wilson stopped, making Chester run into his legs. The situation was not as he’d expected.  
The woman held a long metal pipe in her hands. Maxwell was the one tied to a tree. The shiny, silver bands held his body in place.  
She’d hit him a few times. Blood ran from a cut across his forehead, his knees didn’t look that good either. Or was that from the hounds?  
Wilson held out his hand, struggling to bring out the words. ‘Stop that, hey!’  
She spun round, her eyes furious, but coherent.  
‘Stay back!’ she yelled, a sob in her throat. She raised the metal pipe at Maxwell, making him cringe in fear. ‘You don’t know what he is!’  
‘I know what he is!’ Wilson yelled back. ‘He’s a monster.’  
‘A bad man,’ Webber joined in.  
Wes held down his thumb.  
Wigfrid shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But everyone hates him?’  
The woman lowered the pipe somewhat, her voice shook. ‘I just want answers.’  
Wilson sucked in air between his teeth. ‘That’s going to be difficult, since you seem to have gagged him.’  
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, then she covered her own mouth with a hand. She dropped the pipe, stepping back and tripping over her feet. Shaking her head in disbelief, she groaned. ‘He wouldn’t answer,’ she pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘I thought he was mocking me.’  
She sobbed. ‘He took something from me! Someone! I need him to tell me who it is! Who I am!’  
‘This is a terrible mess,’ Wilson said. He walked up to Maxwell, but he couldn’t bring himself to help him.  
He went to the woman instead. There he sat down beside her, feeling empty.  
A strange sound brought him out of it. Webber was standing by the tree, pulling the shiny ring off Maxwell’s face.  
The man gasped in pain, blood dripping from his mouth and nose onto his suit. Wilson felt nothing. He watched Webber free him, watched as his legs gave in and he crumbled. Was he crying?  
Good.

‘It’s getting dark,’ Wilson heard himself say. ‘We have to get back to our base in time. You too,’ he said to Maxwell as he walked past him. ‘We’re all getting out of here, if we deserve it or not.’  
He tossed him a couple of bandages and kept going.

Maxwell fumbled with the bandages, squinting through his own blood. He kept dropping them as the shadows crept in, the pain a constant whine in his mind.  
Then a light shone on him.  
Webber picked up the bandages and tied them around his ruined knees for him. Maxwell held the torch, unable to stop shaking, unable to speak.  
He swallowed, tasting metal and bile. ‘You don’t have to wait,’ he said. ‘I can’t-’ he let out a groan and sat back down. ‘I can’t walk yet.’  
Webber rocked back and forth on his feet. ‘I don’t think my father wants you to just, like, die.’  
Maxwell pressed the palm of his hand to his good eye, stifling a sob and turning away. After a few more breaths, he heard Webber sit down next to him.  
The old man sniffed, sitting up straight with an effort. ‘What did I do,’ he said with deliberation, ‘that makes you call me a bad man?’  
Webber was silent for a moment. ‘I dunno. I remember it weird. I was alone, and I was very worried? And You said that you had everything to make it alright. I needed something really bad. And you said you had it? Then you laughed. And I was alone again and something bad happened.’ His eyes became empty and his shoulders slackened. ‘Oh yeah, I got eaten by spiders. That hurt a lot. I can still hear myself cry and scream sometimes.’  
‘That isn’t bad,’ Maxwell said. ‘That’s unforgivable.’  
‘I guess.’ Webber looked at him. ‘Maybe you need to stay alive forever to pay for it?’  
Maxwell sat there, silent, the torchlight shining in his eyes.  
‘I’m starting to understand, that might not be good enough.’

In her chair, Charlie stared off into the darkness. What a terrible mess indeed.


	15. Variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Runs and dumps this chapter in here for you only to run back into a too busy life. See you soon!
> 
> With love!   
> Also added some new content warnings in the tags. <3

Warm air carried the smell of flowers into their base. Wilson shifted his feet, waiting as the little group gathered around him and the boulder. He looked at the trees in the distance, at a stone lying on the ground. Everywhere besides Maxwell.  
Something pushed against his leg and he petted Chester between the horns.  
‘Just going through it, aren’t we buddy.’  
He gritted his teeth and pressed his fist into his stomach.  
Wilson shook himself and climbed onto the boulder. Now he could look at everyone better. Everyone that was not sitting a little off to the right, with bandages around their kneecaps.  
The woman was holding her head a lot. He made a mental note to check if she needed a new flower crown, after this. 

‘As you might know by now,’ Wilson said, ‘We’re not supposed to be here.’  
Webber looked up at him, nodding, his eyes big and staring. Staring at him.  
Wilson gave the boy a smile. ‘But we have a way to escape.’  
Wes nodded. Wigfrid held up her spear.  
Wilson paused, brow creased. The woman swayed on her feet. He didn’t know her name and it was difficult to get someone’s attention without one.  
He jumped down. ‘‘Are you okay?’  
Her face scrunched up. ‘Fine.’  
Wes, standing next to her, offered her a plate of meatballs.  
‘Yeah,... about that, ‘she said. ‘Don’t we have anything else besides meatballs?’  
‘There’s berries,’ Wilson said. ‘I thought you liked those.’  
‘Berries aren’t exactly a meal,’ she said. ‘It feels unhealthy. You know?’  
‘Did you roast them?’ Wilson asked.  
Wigfrid shook her head at the situation. ‘We need more meat. You need hard-worker stew, woman.’  
Wes held up a mushroom he’d found.  
Taking it away from Wes, Wilson pocketed the mushroom. ‘Don’t eat the mushrooms.’  
Webber jumped up and down, waving his hands for attention. ‘Guys! Guys! Maxwell can make lasagna!’

Maxwell, the sudden center of attention, shook his head. A blush crept up his cheeks. He remembered the revolting ingredients that went in it and his stomach gave a lurch. ‘It’s not good. No-one should eat it.’  
Wilson grinned, the smile reaching his eyes and filling them with glee. ‘Some variety to our diet would help a lot, actually.’  
‘I might not even remember how I made it,’ Maxwell spluttered.  
Wilson folded his arms. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a magician? I bet you’ll surprise us all. Might even surprise yourself.’  
‘I’d need supplies to-’  
Wilson clapped his hands. ‘Great! You go and get those. We’re all very excited to see the result at mealtime. I’m ready to be amazed.’  
As he was talking, Wilson’s smile had grown and thinned, until it looked like it hurt his face to hold it. 

Maxwell placed a hand to the back of his neck. ‘Weren’t you going to explain about the machine?’  
The scientist waved a hand at him. ‘Someone will fill you in on it later. We really need that new food. For variety. To keep up morale.’  
Maxwell stood and somehow made it look effortless. He was taller than them, and his straight posture gave him an air of confidence. He managed a smile. ‘Then prepare for something ...different, this mealtime.’  
Webber walked towards him but Wilson caught his arm.  
‘No, Webber. I need you here.’ 

Wilson got back on his boulder. ‘If anything tries to kill you out there,’ he called after the man, ‘you run back here!’  
‘We’ll kill it first!’ Wigfrid yelled with real enthusiasm.  
‘So,’ Wilson clapped his hands. He released a breath he’d been holding. Now the tall silhouette had disappeared into the woods, it was easier to speak. ‘The machine!’ 

Wurt stared at her reflection in the giant clamshell, leaning against the wooden boards of her small house. She looked distorted in the pearlescent sheen; small and pathetic.  
Wurt covered her face, feeling the heat and shame as the memories echoed in her head. She saw Him, the usurper, and he was smiling down at her with condescending pity.  
Wurt shook it off. Stepping closer to the clamshell. This caused the curved inside to make her reflection grow tall and proud.  
She sneered. ‘He had no right to be so mean!’  
Rubbing her face with her tiny hands, she cringed. ‘Insulting me in front of everyone!’ Her shoulders drooped. But she caught herself. That didn’t matter, a fresh shiver ran up her back. Everyone else had been scared too.  
‘He’s insane,’ she told herself. ‘Erratic and powerful. A horrible combination.’ She breathed out, calming herself further.  
The gloom soothed her, unseen by anyone but herself. This little hut was her own. It had a little bed and-  
-a crash made splinters fly from her door. When the first that had made a hole retracted, harsh daylight shone in her eyes.  
‘Be patient!’ Wurt shrieked. She threw the door open before it could be attacked again and tossed a fish into the assailants face.  
Glup caught it, dazzled by the shiny scales. He just stood there, no more prone to violence than a dormant Tree guardian.  
I hate you, Wurt thought without noticing. A sharp pain pulsed in her head, spreading from the horn that had been broken off long ago.  
I hate you so much.  
She raised her chin. ‘Is the king awake?’  
‘King awake and king hungry,’ Glup said.  
Wurt nodded. Of course he was.  
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking while she went back into the house to get her backpack.  
It was an honor to feed the king. A royal duty that made her proud!  
The usurper got it wrong. She’d die, she would rather die, than stand there and let anything happen to their king. Tears sprang into her eyes and she made a fist.  
‘You’ll have to kill me first, you hear me, you scum!’

Standing in front of the walls that immured the king, Wurt felt it: The Royal Aura.  
It made her feel cold inside, rearranging her mind to think clear and efficient.  
Two guards opened the door for her and she was in His presence.  
There he sat. Wurt felt her body relax and her gaze focus on nothing but his radiance. He was a green miracle. A pinnacle of muscle and beauty.  
‘King WANT food!’ His majesty declared.  
Wurt dug into her backpack, where she kept the fish.  
One day he might eat me, she thought, but the thought didn’t feel like it had anything to do with her.  
She left the Royal walls in awe, like always. It sent her running away from the village with a sense of great purpose. They needed more food. She needed to work harder. 

Maxwell leaned back, his trouser legs rolled up and with his feet in the cool water of a small pond. It was a nice day.  
Nothing had tried to kill him yet, either.  
He sighed. They wanted a nice treat that would bring variety to their palate and joy to their hearts. Why ask that of someone you hate?  
They wanted him out of the way. At least Wilson did.  
I am an evil man that people hate, and I’m on kitchen duty. He stared at his face in the water, rippling away into nothing.  
I can’t change who I was. But I CAN try to make lasagna. He placed a hand over his eyes.  
Then he pictured himself standing next to the crock pot this evening, timing the expectant silence before a dish popped up. He made the flouris he’d use with his arm in the air, eyes closed. ‘Ta-da!’  
Maxwell caught a smile on his face.  
Why?  
Am I actually looking forward to the show?  
Yes. Something inside him was curious to see what he’d come up with. How the people would react. A chance for a performance!  
‘Good luck,’ he told himself. ‘It’s going to be a humiliation.’  
Humiliation is still a valid form of entertainment, he thought. But not one you can live on that for long. It needs to have a purpose.  
Maxwell stood, putting his shoes back on and dusting his suit off.  
‘If you’re going to fail, at least fail big.’  
Webber would find it palpable, at least.

He ventured out further between the trees. Where had Webber found that rotting meat?  
Earlier he’d found some suspicious looking mushrooms. A few sticks. It would all come to something, he hoped. All that mattered was presentation. Wilson had mostly wanted him out of the way, anyway. That was already achieved.  
A flutter passed his heart. But what if he could make a good lasagna? Maybe he’d be able to sit at the fire without having to pretend he didn’t notice the glares.  
A piece of weird green meat jumped at him from the bushes.  
Maxwell reached for it. The moment he caught it a vine whipped around his wrist, pulling him in.  
It was when the creepers twisted around his legs that he felt a dark stab of fear. But nothing besides that. No memories.  
A trap?  
The plant that had lured him in hung him upside down from his legs. In the grass below, eyeballs popped up to look at him. How odd.  
He frowned at the strange scenario he was a part of. ‘This feels...familiar.’  
An old fear, like a deep wound, blossomed up in his chest, making it feel as tight as the constricting vines. A shred of his old self loomed over him. Someone that would laugh at me, no doubt.  
The vine wrapped around his neck, twisting closed. He heard his breathing stop and felt his heart start to struggle.  
Someone yelled.  
He opened his eyes to see a rake come at his face. He flinched as whoever held it hacked at the green creeper.  
Then he fell to the ground.  
A persistent kicking to his shoulder made him sit up.  
‘Move! I’m not cutting you down again.’  
He struggled to stand, the rake pushing him in the small of his back.  
‘Come on! Walk!’

After some steps, the rake holder pushed to the back of his knees and he went down again.  
Wurt grabbed his face, tilting it to the light to inspect it. ‘You made me cut your stupid ugly face.’  
Maxwell rubbed at the welts on his neck, his cheek stung and felt cold. ‘Thanks.’  
‘No!’ Wurt had tears in her voice. ‘Why are you here? This garden is mine! You want the usurper to find me here with you? To destroy me!’  
Maxwell looked around. They were in a small garden. Neat little plots of hoed land that showed vegetables half-grown. It looked so peaceful. He grabbed a handfull of dirt and let it fall from between his fingers. That felt right.  
Wurt shouted and raved, then she picked up the rake again. ‘Go away!’  
Maxwell tried. But instead of getting up he sunk his head into his hands and his hands to his knees. 

Wurt let the rake’s tip stick into the ground, still holding it.  
‘Hey. Come on. I really need you to go.’  
Maxwell’s shoulders shook and she rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.  
‘No. Don’t do that.’ She gritted her teeth, ‘It’s pathetic.’  
She raised the rake to give his shoulder a jab but couldn’t. Instead, she yanked a vegetable from the soil, hitting him with it. ‘Go!’ She threw another one. ‘Get out of here!’ Another. ‘You’re not wanted here!’  
Finally, she let out a breath and was surprised at how exhausted she sounded. ‘I have so much work to do.’ Her hands clenched and unclenched. ‘Whatever! You stupid, stubborn old man!’

Maxwell looked at his hands. He was crying a lot lately. Bleeding too, apparently. These things seemed to just to happen to him these days.  
Wurt was hoeing the dirt with anger-filled jabs.  
She’s doing it wrong, he thought. But didn’t know how he was supposed to know that.  
He swallowed and his voice sounded broken. ‘I just want to be able to thank someone for saving my life.’  
Wurt grunted something.  
‘I know,’ he added. ‘You didn’t do it for me.’  
‘You’re not Maxwell.’  
He sat there. Not sure what to say to that.  
The little merm rubbed her face. ‘I think I knew before, but it was too much fun to dunk you.’  
Maxwell pulled up his legs, winching.  
‘What were you going to do to me? If Wilson had given me up to you.’  
‘A trial.’ She folded her arms, dropping the gardening tool. ‘Forgetting who you are doesn’t free you of everything that you did.’

In her chair, Charlie leaned in from between her cushions.  
It was difficult to distinguish the words, like squinting against a bright light. But if she focused all her attention on them, she could hear the girl speak, but then missed Maxwell’s answer.  
She squirmed in frustration. If I could just reach further! 

‘Maybe so,’ Wurt said. ‘But it doesn’t matter now.’  
‘No. You’re right.’ He got up, able to stand again. He looked at the fallen rake. ‘Maybe I could-’  
A very loud and thunderous cry echoed through the woods, making them jump.  
Wurt spun round, eyeing the trees.  
‘What is that? I don’t know that sound. I know all the sounds.’ She glared at Maxwell. ‘What did your usurper do now?’  
Maxwell felt the ground shake, as distant trees snapped. Something big was coming their way. He grabbed Wurt and ran for it.  
She kicked him with her tiny legs. ‘Let go!’  
‘In a minute!’  
Whatever it was, it crushed the vegetable garden behind them.  
Wurt managed to look behind and squealed in fear. ‘A giant! It’s a giant!’  
The beast was so loud, it roared and the sounds boomed in their heads and lungs.

Maxwell managed to stay ahead, but just a tiny bit. He had to land his running steps exactly right or the shaking earth would send him flying.  
Wurt wrung her tiny claws into his arms. ‘Don’t take me back to him!’  
‘I have to! It will crush you if let you go!’  
Her voice was high-pitched with fear. ‘I’ll take that chance!’ Then she bit him.  
Maxwell yelped and dropped her. He saw her roll to the side. Then the beast stepped on him.  
And it kept going. A new target urging it forward. 

Wilson crafted the chest and placed it next to the others in a neat and organized row. These would all be filled with logs. Now he needed a new row for stone. Everything was going well for a change. He rubbed his hands.  
A stone wall was being constructed around their sleeping area.  
He scanned the perimeter for the woman. That was her chore. She was a dedicated worker, it was halfway done.  
‘Do you have more stone walls for me?’  
He turned to see the woman standing behind him. Patting his pockets he found some.  
He noticed she tended to look away, when someone dropped things from their inventory. Especially at things that should technically not fit into a pocket.  
‘You should craft some for yourself,’ he prompted. ‘It helps with your sanity.’  
She shook her head. ‘That weird lil machine, I hate how it moves.’  
‘The science machine is a cornerstone to this operation.’ He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. ‘Wait until you see it’s bigger brother, the Portal!’  
‘I’ll have a lot of love for that bigger brother if it gets us out.’ She shivered. ‘Back to someplace sane.’

‘Dad! We got more stones!’  
Webber ran out from underneath the trees, Wigfrid and Wes walking behind him.  
‘Excellent!’ Wilson called back. ‘Slow down, or you’ll trip.’  
Webber did trip, but Wilson almost lost his own balance too. Something was wrong.  
The woman stared at a pebble that skipped on its own on the ground. ‘What’s happening?’  
Wigfrid, spear out and smiling, walked faster. ‘Is it Clopsey?’ She hit her spear onto her armour, yelling at the trees. ‘Come get your eye checked, Clopsey!’ She waved at the mime. ‘Wes! Come on let’s have fun!’ 

Someone stumbled into the base. ‘Giant!’ Maxwell, looking crumpled and beaten. He struggled to breathe and gasped: ‘Duck!’  
Wilson was already moving. He pushed the woman forward, towards Maxwell.  
‘Webber! Come over here! Get out of range! Hide!’ 

Things happened very fast. The woman stared at the insanity and reeled back.  
She gritted her teeth, pressing her knuckles into her temples. ‘Keep it together, stay here.’  
Everyone yelled. Then the THING broke through the trees and entered their base. She gasped. It made a horrible sound, too loud to be possible.  
Three tiny humans were running up to the monster with their tiny spears, and they were fighting it.  
Did she know these people? Colors and sounds began to melt together.  
The boy that kept pulling at her arm was familiar. Nothing is making any sense.  
Then she saw Maxwell, his face made her teeth hurt. She growled at him. ‘It’s not a duck,’ she heard herself say in an insistent tone of voice. ‘It’s-a goose!’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘A moose!’ She hit him on the shoulder, laughing and doubling over. ‘You’re it!’  
Trying to run away but failing, she was laughing so hard her legs wouldn’t work. 

Maxwell grabbed her arms, half collapsing half dragging her to the cover of the treeline.  
She pouted, kicking her legs. ‘I don’t want to go inside! We’re not done playing yet!’  
Webber tried to help, lifting the woman’s leg so was hopping with them.  
‘Are you okay,’ he asked maxwell. ‘You look hurt.’  
Maxwell nodded. ‘It stepped on me. But I’m fine.’  
‘Your face is all bloody.’  
The magician took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. ‘That happens when you get stepped on.’  
They squeezed past low-hanging branches into the shadow of the pine trees.  
The woman lashed out and they dropped her. She giggled. ‘I know all your tricks, I win! Now you have to give me half of your dessert.’ She leaned back and laughed and laughed.  
‘She needs new flowers,’ Webber said.  
Maxwell nodded. He swooned, then fell back against a tree trunk. Focusing all his attention on not dying, he held on. He could see the red center of life, beating in his chest, weak, like a guttering flame.  
Webber stared at the wall of trees they’d put between them and the monster, trying to see. ‘It sounds bad.’  
A deep growl made him spin round. It wasn’t the woman.  
A hound glared at them, grey fur standing up, its tooth filled maw dripping saliva.  
Maxwell struggled to stand, he was closest to it so it turned to look at him; an easy target.  
Webber waved his arms. ‘Hey! Hey come here!’  
It growled at the boy, taking a step in Webber’s direction. Seemingly confused at where to attack first.  
Maxwell stood. He couldn’t tell Webber to run, the boy never listened, so he threw himself onto the creature. One bite would do him in. But it would hopefully be distracted by eating his corpse.  
It snapped at him, but the jaws snapped shut in front of his face and no further.  
The hound made a confused noise. Then looked back.  
The woman pulled him towards her by the tail.  
‘No dogs allowed on the workfloor,’ she hissed.  
The hound lunged at her throat but she struck it on the head with her fist. ‘Bad!’ She hit it again. ‘Bad! Bad dog!’  
It cried and ran off yelping.  
The woman nodded after it, hands on her hips. Then she saw Maxwell. For a moment her face froze in uncertainty, then she shook her head. ‘Regulations are written in blood,’ she said. She took out a handkerchief and knelt, dabbing at the blood on the man’s face.  
Her dark eyes grew serious. ‘You were stamped in when the accident happened, weren’t you? This happened on company time. I’ll testify to it. We’ll take ‘em to court if we have to.’  
Her speech quickened when he didn’t respond. ‘Hey, look at me. What’s your name?’  
Maxwell’s gloved hand closed over hers.  
‘What’s your name?,’ he asked.  
She blinked. ‘I’m Winona,’ she touched her heart, brows knitted. ‘We work together.’  
Webber, having crept up in silence, clapped his hands. He dropped the big stone he’d been holding in the process.  
‘Hurray. We got your name!’  
Winona sat back on her haunches. ‘Yeah. Think I did lose it there for a second. Winona, of course it is.’ She bunched her fist in her hand. ‘It’s the hours, nobody can stay sane working all the time. But if you have to, it’s what you do to survive.’

A breaking sound made them jump.  
But it was Wilson, that came crashing through the undergrowth.  
‘You’re okay?’ He looked Webber over, letting out a sigh of relief. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Maxwell. ‘God, you’re dying.’  
Winona pointed a finger in his face. ‘You said it, bossman. There was a dog on the workfloor. Vicious beast nearly took his face off. All I could do was chase it off with a kick, or we’d have a death on our hands.’  
Wilson looked at the others if they were hearing this too.  
‘Have to sit down now,’ Winona said, and fell over backwards. 

‘Her name’s Winona, ‘Webber said. ‘Maxwell got her to remember it.’  
Wilson wrung his hands a few times. Then he sighed. ‘That’s good. I’m glad.’  
He got the bandages ready to toss at the man, but Maxwell looked in no shape to catch them. Let alone apply them himself.  
Webber held out his hands, reaching for the supplies. Wilson ignored him.  
He checked on Winona, but her pulse was strong and her breathing normal. Then, without another word, he knelt by Maxwell and bandaged his head.  
‘Don’t let your health get this low,’ he said, his voice level and without making eye contact. ‘You need to pay attention.’  
Maxwell fidgeted. ‘I was paying attention. I observed it very closely when the Moosegoose stepped on me. Real difficult to ignore, might be an expert on its footprint now.’  
Wilson’s hands stopped and he frowned. ‘The what?’  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Winona came up with the name.’  
Webber, standing nearby and watching them, asked: ‘Did you kill it? The monster. ’  
‘Wigfrid gave it the final blow,’ Wilson said, concentrating on tying a knot. ‘We now have a lot of meat. A lot. I’m sure Maxwell will make something astonishing with it tonight.’  
He yanked Maxwell’s arm up and rolled a bandage around his wrist. Holding the hand made his own feel uncomfortable. He tried not to notice the texture of that glove, the warm skin contained within it.  
Risking a glance at the face just made it weirder. He didn’t recognize it, like someone else had control of the familiar features. This was probably exactly what was going on. He just hadn’t made himself see it before. The man sitting across was a stranger. A stranger that didn’t know him.  
Wilson blinked and got back to bandaging. Had he just been staring? No. He blew out air through his teeth. ‘How are your legs?’  
‘They get me in and out of trouble,’ Maxwell said.  
Jaw clenching up, Wilson dropped the arm he’d been holding. He rubbed his hands on his pants and stood. ‘There.’  
Maxwell looked down at the handiwork, curling and flexing his fingers. ‘Thanks.’  
‘Don’t mention it.’

Together they brought Winona back to the base. Webber in front, cheering them on.  
When Wigfrid spotted them and jumped up and down. ‘We stored the meat!’ Her face fell a little when she noticed one of them was unconscious.  
Then she shook her head in disbelief, a smile returning to her face. ‘So much meat.’  
Wes waved at them, sitting on the chest that was now Meat Storage.  
‘We’ll have to craft an ice box,’ Wilson said. ‘But you need ice for that, so drying racks will have to do for now.’  
They placed Winona on a mat near the fire. It would be dark soon.

That evening Maxwell stood with his back to the flames. Everyone had gathered round it and they were waiting.  
No. They were anticipating. He felt in his soul that there was a difference.  
Maybe, and he didn’t know if this was how he usually thought, but maybe there had alway been people sitting around a fire, right from the very beginning. And from those groups way back then, someone had stepped forward to … do something, it didn’t matter what. Just to be the thing that those fellow people could look at.  
He turned around.  
Winona had woken up just before mealtime, she looked pale and didn’t say much.  
Webber was sitting close by, the kid gave him a thumbs up. He smiled at that.  
Maxwell leaned on the crock-pot standing next to him, and fell into a tone of voice that felt familiar: ‘Ladies, gentleman,’ Wilson stood with his arms folded, a little off to the side of the group.  
‘tonight you have high expectations!’  
Webber raised his fist in the air. ‘It’s going to be delicious!’  
Maxwell made a bow, then gestured to the crock-pot. ‘I have spent the day gathering the finest supplies.’  
Wigfrid called out. ‘And a fine beast!’  
‘That was a matter of circumstance,’ he said, ‘I’m glad nobody got hurt. But-’ Maxwell held out his hands to the light of the flames, illuminating a very red vegetable. It was new to him, grabbed at random from his pockets. ‘This, is what I found.’  
Wilson frowned. ‘That’s new,’ he mumbled to himself, but his words made the group look at it with more interest.  
‘It’s red like meat but isn’t meat,’ Wigfrid said with hesitation.  
Maxwell threw it into the crockpot. ‘The next ingredient...,’ he held it up but dropped it into the pot before anyone could see, ‘was a secret.’  
‘What!’ Webber jumped up. ‘Why!’  
Maxwell straightened up. ‘It won’t work otherwise, child from the crowd.’  
Webber sat back down, blowing a raspberry. ‘Lame. I just want to know.’  
The magician held up the next vegetable.  
Wilson, eyebrows raised, placed his hands on his hips. ‘A potato? Where do you keep finding things!’ He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t find anything on the map besides the path of destruction the moosegoose made.  
Into the pot it went.  
‘Now, for my final ingredient,’ Maxwell said. ‘I require an item from the audience.’  
‘Come on,’ Wilson said. ‘How can that make a good dish?’  
‘Meat!’ Wigfrid thrust a chicken leg in the air.  
Webber held up a stick. ‘Add this!’  
Chester barked and jumped while everyone offered random items and varying opinions. The old base was alive like it had never been before.  
Maxwell pointed that he’d spotted something. Then he walked up to Wes, and took a piece of honey from the man.  
Wes, sitting on the chest, smiled and beamed. It didn’t matter that it was the evil man, it was nice to be included.

Maxwell dangled the last ingredient above the pot. He had their complete attention, all eyes fixed on his hand. Then he dropped in the honey, and the pot began to cook.  
The rattle of the lid was very loud in the rapt silence.  
Webber, practically vibrating from excitement, stamped his feet. ‘What is it going to be? I’m going to throw up if it’s not ready soon!’  
Wigfrid rubbed her chin. ‘Best case it’s meatballs.’  
‘It has a lot of good ingredients,’ Wilson said, ‘can’t be that bad.’  
Wes was still smiling, not paying attention to anything else besides being included.  
The lid rattled once, then twice, and a big plate of the ugliest steaming grey goop popped out.  
Webber let out a cry and several groans filled the air. And laughter. The kind of deep, soft laughter that went up in pitch and then became breathless.  
It was Winona.  
She tried to speak, then just pointed at the bland and unappealing dish. ‘It’s…’she held her stomach and tried again, tears in her eyes. ‘It’s -not good at all!’  
Maxwell presented it to her, holding the plate like a fine waiter, one arm behind his back, his voice bent into an elegant tone. ‘It is not what the lady wanted? It’s certainly not meatballs.’ Behind him the crock pot was already rattling again.  
Winona pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘It’s so bad!’ She hick-upped, colour flooding back into her face. ‘Everyone waited- and then - and then it’s bad!’  
Wigfrid smiled at her. ‘It is really bad. It looks awful!’  
‘I want to eat it!’ Webber yelled.  
Wilson had rolled his eyes, but there had been a brief smile on his face. Then he saw something new pop out of the Crock pot. ‘What is that!’ He could not resist the urge to go over to it.

A greenish loaf jiggled at him, holding a strange shape within. To Wilson, all things encased in gelatin shouted good food and fancy meals. It made him nostalgic for something he’d never thought he’d miss; Family dinner at the fireplace.  
This is so stupid, he thought. For a moment he’d been transported away from it all.  
Webber poked it, making it dance and sway. ‘Are you going to eat it?’  
Wilson really wanted to. His hand reached for it. But he looked over to Winona, who had also come to see like everyone else. ‘Do you want it?’  
She shook her head. ‘Looks too fancy, it can’t be good.’ She giggled. ‘I’d sooner eat that goop.’ The memory of the reveal still fresh in her mind.  
Wilson ate it. The thing glibbered down his throat and he relived a thousand tense situations with his parents, standing by the celebration dinners, waiting for the correct time to eat. The tired slew of practicing tradition and abiding to family rituals. The Questions. But it had not been thousands of dinners, there had been a limited number of times they had eaten together. And now those days were gone.  
He took a sharp breath and realised he was being stared at.  
Winona placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Was it that bad?’  
He nodded and rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘Exactly as it should be.’  
Webber held his head and groaned. ‘I want one too! I need to eat it!’  
‘Here’s what I used,’ Maxwell said. He made them jump because they’d forgotten about him. In front of him on the grass lay a plethora of vegetables.  
Webber made a kick-jump through the air. ‘Yes!’  
Wilson caught his arm. ‘Everyone, keep some of those back to plant into the earth for later. Otherwise, have fun cooking. Maxwell, come with me.’ 

The group watched Wilson walk into the woods, a torch held up to banish the shadows around him.  
Maxwell stood there for a moment, then walked after him.  
Winona frowned at this. ‘What are they going to do? It’s dangerous out in the dark.’  
‘He probably wants to know where the vegetables are,’ Wigfrid said.  
Webber held up a green piece of plant-like meat. ‘This is the stuff to make that jelly-loaf thing with, I know it!’  
Wes was still smiling. 

Maxwell stayed a little behind while Wilson led them to a clearing a while from the base. There the man made a small fire and turned to face him.  
‘You’re not Maxwell.’  
Taken aback, Maxwell shrugged. ‘It seems people are-’  
‘No.’ Wilson shook his head. ‘I knew you, I know everything about you, and you’re not him.’  
A silence filled the dark woods, the crackle of the fire the only sounds. 

Charlie sat back to listen, she could hear things better when the world was dark and quiet. 

‘...and, are you going to tell me?’ Maxwell asked after a while.  
‘Tell you what? All the horrible things you did? The hurt that you caused?’ Wilson pressed his palm into his shoulder, massaging it. ‘I don’t feel like reliving it, honestly.’  
‘Then wh-’  
‘-I want you to know that it’s not personal anymore,’ Wilson interrupted him. It felt good to interrupt Maxwell.  
‘The… real Maxwell didn’t just hurt me. He hurt my best friend. Because of him, you, she suffered in a dark place for longer than you can imagine.’ His voice broke.

Charlie dug her nail in the arms of the chair. 

Wilson closed his eyes and took a breath. ‘We are both stuck here because of what you did. And she saved me when she couldn’t even think straight. She’s strong and resilient, and you never deserved her. You don’t deserve anyone. All you care for is yourself, you just forgot.’  
Maxwell swallowed but he didn’t say anything.  
Wilson kneaded his forehead. ‘She is waiting for me to find a way out of here. I know I can do it. And you are doing your part to help. And that’s the only thing you’re good for.’  
‘I try.’  
Wilson smiled with an unkind glint in his eyes. ‘This place tricked you somehow. You were on your way to escape, last time-’ He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. ‘When you abandoned us for freedom. You were laughing your head off at your cleverness. Now you’re just a shadow of who you were.’  
‘Pathetic?’  
Wilson paused at the proffered word. ‘No. Not pathetic. Though, maybe in comparison. I don’t know.’ He sat down at the fire. ‘I’m tired.’

Charlie let out a long breath, then kept listening. 

Maxwell hesitated on the edge of the fire’s light. Should he go back to camp? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find it at night.  
He sat down at the fire, across from the other man. The dark beard he’d first seen him with was gone now. Shaven off because of the increase in temperature maybe. He looked better without it.  
Wilson studied him too, staring like he had that afternoon.  
Maxwell leaned back. ‘It must be strange.’  
Wilson poked the fire with a stick. ‘What?’  
‘I had all this power over you, and now you’re holding all the cards. You say you know everything about me and here I am stumbling, a stranger to myself.’  
Wilson smirked. ‘True. Ironic, I guess.’  
‘Were we ever…’ Maxwell gestured his hand to Wilson and back to himself.  
Eyebrows raised in shock, Wilson held out his hands. ‘No!’ 

Charlie rolled her eyes. 

‘So we’re building a machine?’ Maxwell asked, while Wilson poked the fire with more fervour than was needed.  
‘Yes. A portal. I have the blueprint.’  
‘And it’s difficult to build?’  
‘Yes. It takes a lot of resources. And then we have to defend it a while before it works.’  
‘But if we do, then we get your friend and everyone else, and we go back...home?’  
Wilson looked up. ‘It’s my home, by the way.’  
Maxwell frowned. ‘What is?’  
‘The house… ‘ Wilson slapped his forehead. ‘You made me miss rent! It’s likely going to be back on the market. Nobody wanted it. The townspeople said it was haunted. Well, that turned out to be true.’ Maybe now the ghost in those stories took the shape of a lonely victorian man, who had mysteriously vanished. What a shock it will be, when he suddenly turns back up.  
‘You’ve lost me there,’ Maxwell said  
Wilson waved his hand. ‘Forget it. I’ll figure something out when it’s time.’  
‘You seem to do that a lot.’  
‘I am a capable man,’ Wilson said. ‘That doesn’t give up.’ He stood. ‘I’m going to look for some things I need for the machine. You can stay here or go back to camp.’  
Maxwell opened his mouth but Wilson was already walking away.  
He sighed, leaning his chin on his knee. ‘Thanks,’ he whispered to no-one. For what? For letting me stay?  
Maxwell stared into the fire. Had being alive always been this difficult? Maybe it was difficult for everyone, except for the old Maxwell, of course.  
He thought about Wurt, and her destroyed vegetable garden. He didn’t pick up those vegetables when she’d pented then at her. They had just been there when he looked later in the day. It still felt like he stole them.  
He traced a finger over the bandage across his wrist, then sighed.  
It was going to be a long night, sitting here with himself. 

Charlie got up and made it back to her crafting area. She had work to do. Who cared about that strange, empty, horrible man! As long as he was useful, anyway. Winona had found her name and spirit again. He’d been useful for that.  
‘Wilson,’ she whispered his name. ‘Do it for Wilson.’ 

Wilson turned away from spying on the man sitting by the fire. Definitely not the real Maxwell. Maxwell didn’t look vulnerable and alone like that.  
‘Get used to it,’ he said under his breath. ‘You brought this on yourself.’  
The urge to punch him had gone away.  
Wilson grinned at himself while he walked. Now I just wanted to slap him across the face when he speaks.  
But that wasn’t all true. He leaned his back against a tree and clenched his torch.  
His eyes drooping, Wilson let himself slide down to the ground. If he could just shake the heavy feeling in his head and limbs, the itch in his eyes. Just for a moment. 

When he opened his eyes he was back in the dark, cavernous room. His breath fogged the still air.  
Sitting on his knees, he could feel movement behind him.  
A gloved hand grabbed his chin from behind. Wilson let out a groan that filled him with shame. Sending his heartbeat into his head and face. But he leaned into that hand, into the pressure of it.  
Maxwell stroked his other hand through his air, eliciting another groan from him.  
The low, familiar voice spoke close to his ear. ‘Agreeable now, are we?’  
Wilson nodded, his eyes closed, at peace.  
Maxwell let go of his chin, leaning in close from behind. He stroked forward past his ribs, grabbing his wrists.  
When Wilson opened his eyes a smooth band of shadow bound his hands together.  
In the moment he was distracted Maxwell wound another shadow around his neck and pulled it tight on a leash.  
‘Down,’ Maxwell said, placing his polished shoe into the small of Wilson's back, pushing him to all fours.  
Wilson breathed in to curse but Maxwell gave the leash a pull, forcing him to sit up on his knees like a dog. He stood behind him, pulling the cord against his foot on Wilson’s back.  
Grinning as the scientist coughed and choked, squirming in his grip, Maxwell’s lips parted.  
The bound hands were unable to loosen the collar. He waited until Wilson's hands started to fail, then sagged down completely. He stepped him down into the floor.  
‘There you go, easy does it.’  
Maxwell undid his belt. Wilson tried to look up at the sound but Maxwell nudged the side of his face with his shoe. ‘Be patient now. Don’t make this worse.’  
Then he sat down, leaning back against what was left of the throne. He guided Wilson to crawl across his lap and lie down over it. It was easy to do while he was still disoriented from lack of air.  
Wilson made a sound of protest when Maxwell gripped his pants and pulled them down to reveal his naked behind. His face burned from the humiliation. He tried to crawl away.  
‘You’ve done it,’ Maxwell said in a stern voice. ‘You’re getting five extra now.’  
‘Maxwell,’ Wilson managed to say through his ravaged throat. ‘The f-’  
The belt cracked across his rear and Wilson let out a yelp of surprise. It didn’t hurt until the pain stung him all at once. Maxwell let the belt crack again and again, a firm grip on the back of Wilson’s neck. Keeping him in place with ease.  
Trying to breathe, to say something, with each slash of pain something in Wilson shook and then finally gave way. He cried, open and loud, like a child.  
He only noticed the assault had stopped when Maxwell leaned in close. He flinched at the nearness of his voice.  
‘Sssh,’ the man whispered in his ear. ‘You brought this on yourself. Are you going to count down for me, or do I have to start again?’  
‘No,’ Wilson shook his head, a thread of saliva dangling from his slackened mouth. ‘Please, no more.’  
‘I’m afraid you’ve got five more to go.’  
Wilson kept shaking his head until the belt cracked and he seized up from the impact.  
‘Do I hear five?,’ Maxwell asked.  
Wilson tried to speak.  
Maxwell hit him again. ‘Wilson. This isn’t that difficult to understand.’  
‘Five!’ Wilson cried out.  
‘Good, that’s a good boy.’ Maxwell patted his head, then hit him again as hard as he could, making him scream and beg. ‘What comes next? Wilson?’ He gripped the dark hair tight, pulling his head back, stretching his neck. ‘You want to go back to five?  
‘F- four!’  
‘Good. Good, now we’re getting somewhere. Take it.’  
Wilson heard himself groan and pant after the hit. It took him so much to say “three,” then the belt slapped him across the ass and he kept crying.  
‘Such a good and proper boy,’ Maxwell crooned. Nearly over. You know what comes next.’  
Wilson’s face scrunched up by itself, his body shaking. ‘I can’t. Can’t take any more.’  
‘Did you say five?’  
‘It’s two! You G-’  
Maxwell half let the belt fall from his grip, holding one side, then snapped the metal buckle against the reddened flesh, drawing blood. Then he hit Wilson again, quick and sharp. ‘Two it is.’  
Exhausted, more breath than speech, Wilson said One.  
Maxwell delivered. Then he lifted Wilson in his arms and carried him into the darkness.

Wilson couldn’t move, lying on his stomach on a large four poster black bed in the shadows. Maxwell sat next to him, a silhouette in front of a weak light. He was smoking a cigar.  
Wilson swallowed and it hurt so much. ‘Why?’  
‘You left,’ Maxwell said, not looking at him. ‘You’re not allowed to leave.’  
‘I-’ Wilson almost made it upright but couldn’t make it. It took several breaths to come back out of a sickening vertigo. ‘You left!’ He gasped. ‘You abandoned me.’  
Maxwell glanced at him. ‘Why would I? You’re mine.’  
‘m not yours,’ Wilson said with feeling.  
The other man chuckled, like he’d said something mildly amusing. ‘Of course you’re mine. I called and you came to find me. You let me in. Now we’re here, forever.’  
‘This isn’t real.’ A cold grip of fear pierced through Wilson’s burning skin, giving him the strength to lift himself onto his elbows. His knees weren’t quite there yet.  
The bed moved under Maxwell’s weight. ‘This is real,’ the other man said, coming closer, growing larger. ‘I’ve held you here, touched you everywhere, tasted you.’  
Wilson suppressed a shiver when he felt Maxwell’s naked skin against his side. He realised he was naked too. ‘Don’t.’  
‘Sssssh.’  
Wilson bit his lip when Maxwell slid over him. This is a dream. I’ve had dreams like this before.  
Did I? Yes. That’s why this is familiar.  
A hand caressed his back, going down.  
Maxwell spread his legs. Wilson breathed in, closing his eyes.  
And sat bolt upright in the harsh sunlight. Birds sang, the wind moved through the trees. Wilson covered his face from it all, flailing.  
It was well past morning. Wilson struggled to stand. He patted his buttocks. It hurts. Like, really hurts.  
‘I’ve sat wrong during the night,’ he told himself. Walking was difficult, but he needed to get back to camp. ‘Walk it off, Wilson. Get a grip. Good god.’  
Shouldn't have thought about Maxwell this close to sleep. I’ll avoid that and then I’ll be fine.


	16. The big day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Wow. Wanted to make this a Christmas present to you but it needed more time. So have a Happy Today instead! 
> 
> Hoping that this upate finds you welll, may you be safe and cozy. 
> 
> I'll be back soon with the next one, I hope

Charlie turned away from the sound of laughter. For a moment there had been a fire and its warm glow on happy faces. Then the vision flickered out and she stood there in the dark, her hands on her crafting table.  
Did they have to be so loud? Wilson had told the group they should head to bed early. That tomorrow was going to be a big day. THE big day. Just one more package.  
He’d gone out to get it too, dutiful as he was.  
Then someone had started a shadow show on the wall. And now they were laughing at a silly story.  
Charlie looked at her hands, pale and cold. She rubbed them.  
Did I make the package or not? Her eyes grew big for a moment and she pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘I can’t recall.’  
There was a hint of sulphur in the air. That usually meant her package was taken away into the world.  
She sighed, walking back to her spot on the carpet, where she turned and walked in circles.  
‘Tomorrow is going to be a big day,’ she whispered, and the surrounding shadows echoed her words. ‘Wilson will build the machine and get us away from here.’ 

Wilson, walking through the nightly woods, whistled and then stopped.  
He scratched his head. What am I feeling cheerful about? He walked on in silence.  
Cheerful, that felt like a wild and dangerous thing to be in this treacherous world.  
There was still work to do. Yes, they’d all worked hard and gathered the needed supplies. But he still needed the last package from Charlie to get started.  
Being cheerful. Tsk. Any moment something could go wrong, and then there would be chaos and pain.  
He bunched his fist, closing his eyes to study the map.  
There!  
He found the package perched on a rock. It looked… odd.  
Unwrapping the familiar red cloth, Wilson found an empty wine glass. A shudder ran up his spine and he placed it on the ground. He took a step back and bit his knuckle.  
It was the third package that had the wrong thing inside.  
‘Charlie,’ he whispered. ‘Get it together. We’re almost there.’  
There was something else inside the package. Wilson unfurled it.  
It was was a piece of paper, scribbled with familiar symbols. Sheet music.  
He touched his throat, reading it. This was written for a violin. ‘The devil’s trill.’  
Wilson clenched it in his fist and he stood up straight. ‘Charlie?’  
His torch cast dancing shadows on the trees and grass.  
‘Is this a joke?’

In her room, Charlie blinked. Wilson? She spun round, but there was no-one there.  
Then a faint voice called out to her from the darkness. ‘Charlie!’  
She ran. They found me! They made the portal! Her voice cracked as she called out, ‘I’m here! I’m here!’  
Her heart beat against her chest and she flung her arms out. Then smacked into a wall, falling back in a heap on the carpet.  
She flung herself up in a rage, hitting the wall and tearing into a door, tearing it to splinters with hands that looked like claws.  
Chains moved in the dark and her glaring eyes focused on a small shape, dangling in the space beyond.  
But her gaze fell on other things. Her things. Lichens, bits of saltstone... Everything that Wilson needed to finish the machine.  
Charlie let out a sob and went to it, struggling over the debris. She knelt, picking them up to her chest and dropping the things she couldn’t hold.  
Why is it here, lying in the dust?  
She looked up.  
A creature stared down at her, a dark red thing dangling from the ceiling.  
Charlie backed away, holding herself until her back hit the wall of this room she’d uncovered.  
The creature was small, but it looked like something evil. With its curved horns and hooved feet. She looked away.  
Wilson’s voice echoed through to her from outside. “I really need you to focus, Charlie. Please, send me the things from the blueprint. We’re almost done. I promise. I’ll get us out, but I need your help.”

He sounded so sincere, so lost. Charlie rubbed a tear from her cheek.  
He thinks I don’t care. That I messed up.  
A hot rage bubbled up inside her that squared her shoulders ‘You!’  
She marched towards the thing. ‘You’re the one that messed up!’  
Her hands were around its hairy throat, then it was gone.  
The smell of sulphur made her cough.  
‘Fiend!,’ she shrieked. ‘Get back here!’  
And suddenly it was; dangling in the same place by the chains again.  
Charlie pointed at it between coughs. ‘Whatever you -are! Your game -ends here!’  
It pointed at its face, more a snout, at an iron muzzle clamping its jaws together.  
Charlie pouted, sinking to her knees.  
‘Why would I help you? You steal my things. You make me look bad.’ She rubbed at her eyes. They wouldn’t stop crying.  
The creature vanished. It appeared on the pile of things to pick something up. Then it was gone again, then went back to hanging from the chains.  
A lichen fell into her lap. Did it drop it there from above?  
Charlie stood, dusting off her dress and tilting her head back.  
‘I think it would be best if you got back to doing your job.’  
She swallowed, pushing her hair out of her face and struggling to keep her voice level. ‘I am going to make another package, and if you deliver it, then we’ll see about your chains.’  
She turned and walked out of the room.  
The creature dropped its head. But behind the muzzle, sharp teeth formed a smile. 

Maxwell leaned his chin on the end of his hoe. He’d spend the morning upgrading the garden plots and then added some more of his own. A poop bucket stood next to him on the garden path. He had made it himself with the science machine. It filled him with a strange sense of pride. Maxwell’s magnificent poop bucket. He smirked at that, closing his eyes.  
He felt the remaining seeds that were in his pocket. Now was the time for a decision.  
He glanced to see if anyone was watching him. Winona and Wigfrid were talking by the science machine.  
Wilson stood a little off to the side, looking away: a busy man, as always.  
Now or never.  
Maxwell snagged the bucket and legged it into the forest. 

When Wilson risked another glance, Maxwell was gone. One moment standing there by the garden plots, vanished the next. He flexed his fingers and closed his eyes to check the map.  
There he went, running along the path of destruction the Moosegoose had made. What was Maxwell doing?  
‘Wilson?’  
Wilson blinked and saw Winona smiling at him.  
She motioned for him to follow her. ‘We made you something.’  
Wilson, rubbing the back of his neck, walked with her. ‘We?’  
‘Wigfrid helped me get all the supplies.’  
They went into the sleeping area. A walled off safe place with its own firepit and sleeping mats. Winona had built most of it, including a wooden floor.  
Wilson tapped his foot on the boards. It really made a difference.  
‘Allright,’ Winona said. ‘Hope this works.’  
She held out her arms and aimed for an empty spot next to the wall. Then she built him something.  
Wilson crossed his arms. ‘You really are a fast builder. That’s going to come in handy soon. I’ll get the last supplies, can’t take much longer now. Then we’ll need you to repair- ‘ He stopped mid-sentence when he saw what she’d created. He frowned. ‘Is that a lean-to?’  
Winona clapped her hands together. ‘I saw it inside the science machine! It will let you get some rest during the day.’  
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘You’re on nights all the time, you need to get your rest too.’  
Wilson looked down at his shoes. ‘That’s alright.’  
‘It is. Rest is vital for good work performance.’ She rubbed her hands. ‘When Wes gets back with those planks, I’ll build an ice box. It makes no sense to let the food spoil if we can help it.’  
‘That’s true. Wait, I thought Wes was on gear duty?’  
Winona shrugged. ‘I asked him if he could bring some along and he gave me a thumbs-up.’  
‘Probably didn’t notice there was something he agreed to.’ Wilson checked the map. Wes was somewhere way off from where they had planned an attack on a chessboard full of automaton.  
Wilson nodded. ‘Alright, looks like he got lost. Can you help Wigfrid? I’m going to go get him. We’ll meet by the chessboard.’  
‘Got it. More hands ease the load! We’ll be able to get some wood before evening, too.’  
Wilson, already moving, pointed back at her. ‘Great idea, and sticks!’  
Pointing back at him and running in the opposite direction, Winona shouted; ‘Done and done, Bossman!’  
‘You don’t have to call me that!’

The base stood empty and a single raindrop plunked onto the lid of the crock pot.

Maxwell wiped his brow. He’d rolled up his sleeves and taken off his gloves. Still it was too hot. He looked up at the sky. Those low-hanging clouds were promising rain but for now they stifled the air.  
Restoring the broken plots and loosening the soil had been only half of the work.  
Now he’d have to plant the seeds.  
‘What are you doing here?’  
Maxwell dropped the hoe. He picked it back up and pretended not to be flustered.  
‘Why are you here, Webber? Aren’t you on berry duty?’  
The boy shrugged. ‘I got enough.’  
‘Then you can help me here.’ He tossed him some seeds, and an onion flew out of his sleeve. The vegetable bonked on Webber’s head and into the dirt.  
Maxwell stared at it in confusion. ‘Whoops?’  
Webber pocketed the seeds and picked up the onion. ‘This isn’t part of the base,’ he said, looking around at the space between the trees.  
Maxwell sighed. ‘This got destroyed when the Moosegoose attacked. It’s where I got our food last time.’  
Webber took a bite out of the onion, crunching it up between his sharp teeth. ‘So it’s for later?’  
Maxwell took a large breath and let it out slow. If he was going to be damned, then so be it. ‘It’s for Wurt. This is her garden. I was there when it got broken by the giant. I want to make it right.’  
‘Oh. Okay.’ Webber knelt by one of the plots and planted a seed.  
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re just fine with this?’  
‘Yeah. I guess. She’s mean but not real mean. Don’t want her to starve or something.’  
Maxwell pointed. ‘Try not to crowd them too much. Seeds need room to grow.’  
Webber smirked at him. ‘Sure thing, farmer man.’  
‘If you want to be a farmer boy, you don’t crowd the seeds.’  
‘Not crowding the seeds.’  
Maxwell got down on his knees in the dirt of his own plot. ‘Like so. Dip dip, plant. Two spaces.’ He brushed the soil with his hands, covering the holes up with care.  
Webber glanced at how Maxwell was doing it, then tried to copy the example.  
After a while Webber sighed and drew a line in the dirt. ‘Why am I on berry duty? I want to help kill the chess men.’  
‘It sounded dangerous. And berries are important. They feed us.’  
‘We have so much meat and vegetables! Berry duty isn’t a real job. He just wants me out of the way.’  
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Maybe prove you can do the job that you don’t like, and he’ll trust you with a more difficult one. Seeing as your tantrum didn’t achieve anything. ’  
‘That’s boring.’  
‘It is how it is.’  
“It is how it is,” Webber mocked him, but went back to working how Maxwell had shown.  
Maxwell smiled without noticing, but Webber saw and it made him pay extra attention to how he planted.  
They worked in silence after that until the work was done. Then they headed back to their base.

Wurt dropped down from a branch. She’d scampered up a tree in a panic when she heard Maxwell approach. Now she stared after the two, her head tilted to one side.  
The garden looked magnificent. She rubbed her brow at the word.  
They didn’t have to do this. Just weak-headed idiots doing things because they felt sorry for her.  
Good deeds don’t get rewarded in this world. They more than not got you punished. 

It was pure chaos. Wigfrid’s laughter filled the humid air, and the rain light made every flower stand out extra bright on the green grass.  
Wes stabbed the metallic chest looming over him, releasing a thin blood mist of oil onto himself as he pulled his spear from the groaning sheet of skin. He licked his lips and tasted rust. Somewhere between the trees soft music played on and on, far away.  
‘Wes!’  
Wilson pulled him aside, making an electric bolt whizz past, instead of into his head.  
The dark, serious eyes bore into his and the music stopped.  
‘Stay here in the moment, okay?’  
Wes nodded. Time was a real thing again.  
Winona waved at them, further up on the chessboard. ‘We need to destroy that tall one first! He’ll keep shooting at us if we don’t!’  
Raising his spear, Wilson ran towards it. ‘The Bishop!’ He yelled, ‘got it!’  
Wes sat down on his butt. He picked a flower and felt better.  
A piercing shriek made him stand back up. But the people were laughing? So he sat back down. 

Wilson turned. But Wigfrid was already on the scene. She tore through the knight automaton that had attacked Winona. Piercing her spear through its neck with a smooth jump, then landed on her feet to topple it. It fell into a heap of scrap and gears and ended when she stabbed it through its unblinking eye.  
A hot bolt shot past Wilson’s head, singing his ear. He shook himself and went to finish the job. 

Winona sat up and swooned as a wave of dizziness overtook her senses.  
‘It got me!’ She grinned in disbelief. ‘Who authorised these things?’  
Two strong hands steadied her shoulders. ‘Sit still. It got your face.’  
‘My face? Almost took my head off!’  
‘Keep this on,’ Wigfrid said. ‘No. Hold it.’  
Winona let her hand be put to her cheek. There was a bandaid on it.  
She frowned. ‘It’s sticky.’  
Wigfrid grabbed her chin between her fingers, tipping her head back to look into her eyes. ‘What is your name?’  
Winona chuckled. ‘I’m Winona. Didn’t hit my head, you know. Only a scratch.’  
‘Keep the sticky bandage on, else you’ll get a scar. Keep the wound covered in ointment. No scab, no scar.’  
‘That’s a thing?’  
‘Yes.’  
Wigfrid offered her a hand and Winona got back onto her feet.  
‘You’re right in the head again,’ the warrior said. ‘That is good.’  
Winona beamed. ‘I do my best to help.’  
Wigfrid shook her head. ‘You don’t fight good. Stay behind me and Wes and Wilson, to not die.’  
‘I’ll um…’  
But Wigfrid was off again, running up to the next opponent.  
Winona made her way back to where Wes was sitting.  
‘Hey buddy, taking a break?’ She sat down next to him. ‘I could use one myself. Didn’t clock out once today. That’s a violation for a reason.’ She touched the bandaid on her cheek with her fingertips, her gaze resting on the two distant figures. ‘Accidents happen when you’re tired. Stay alert to stay healthy.’  
Wes handed her a handful of planks.  
‘You remembered!’ Winona cried out. ‘Thanks, friend! This will improve things a lot for us all. No more food wasted.’  
Wes gave her a thumbs up and Winona gave him one too.

When everyone met back at the base, it was nightfall. Wilson stood at the fire, arms folded to hold himself, and wondered where the day had gone to.  
A breeze whipped the fire up, pelting his face with raindrops.  
Someone tugged at his arm. It was Webber. ‘Here,’ the boy said.  
Wilson took the handful of roasted berries. He studied them without really looking. The red blurred in with his hands and the smoke from the fire got into his eyes. What if he came back empty-handed again? Would they lose hope?  
‘Dad?’  
He shook himself. ‘Thanks. Are these all you gathered?’  
‘No.’ Webber leaned back and forward on his heels, swinging his arms. ‘We gathered a lot more on our way back.’  
Wilson placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, stopping the seesaw movement.  
He pocketed the berries. ‘Thank you for helping.’  
Webber looked up at him, hanging onto his arms. ‘Are you sure about going? It’s raining.’  
‘I’ll dry off under a tree when it gets too much.’ He pried off Webber’s fingers and noticed there were eyes on him. He faced the crowd, Wigfrid and Wes, Winona and even Maxwell.  
‘Tomorrow, is going to be the big day.’ He cleared his throat, but didn’t know what more to add. Then he went off into the dark, followed by Chester, always at his side. 

Winona shook her head. ‘We should all just head out, see if we can’t find those secret ingredients together.’  
‘They’re hidden,’ Wigfrid said, tearing at a piece of roasted meat with her teeth. ‘Only Wilson finds them.’  
Wes pointed at the darkness, making a scared face and hugging himself.  
‘Yeah,’ Wigfrid nodded. ‘The dark is scary. Hard to fight what you can’t see.’  
Winona rubbed her chin. ‘I have an idea for that, I think.’  
Maxwell said nothing. He sat by the fire, placing another log onto the flames here and there.  
Webber dropped down next to him, shoulders slumped.  
The man handed him a stick, and the boy poked the flames with it. 

‘There!’ Charlie yanked the thread tight and made a bow on the little red bundle. She giggled to herself. ‘All done! No more disappointments.’  
She spun round, waiting. Then when nothing happened, she scooped the package up and marched to the hole in the wall.  
Charlie frowned, her brow creasing with concern as she trailed the jagged claw marks in the stone. What had done that? Something strong and dangerous, no doubt.  
‘Hey,’ she leaned inside. The creature was still there. ‘Bring this to Wilson. Go on!’  
A crack, and the smell of brimstone and the thing was gone. Tiny claws took the package from the hands and then vanished.  
Charlie cradled her elbow in her hand, tapping her foot while she waited.  
Then the thing was back in its place, all bundled up in chains. It could just vanish and be gone, but somehow had to come back here?  
She listened. There was the sound of rainfall and footsteps. For a moment she could almost see the torchlight falling on a bundle, glistening on the raindrops in Wilson’s hair.  
Holding her breath, pressing a hand to her heart, she waited.  
Then a sigh of relief from the forest. ‘Thank you!’ Wilson’s voice made her smile. She twirled, hung suspended in the air. Then her toes touched the ground, and she half-danced towards the prisoner.  
She tore at the muzzle, but it wouldn’t budge.  
‘That’s not good,’ she said, pressing her fingertip to her chin.  
The creature squirmed, looking uncomfortable.  
Charlie yanked at the chains, cold and heavy in her hands. Pain seeped into her palms and up her arms. She fell back with a gasp.  
At the back of her mind, someone laughed at her. She lashed out at it, burying the feeling of humiliation with rage. Shattering the chains.  
It was free.  
The creature jumped up and with a surprising melodic voice, said; you’re a damned fool. You’re all damned.’ Then it was gone.  
Charlie sat there. She stared at what was left of the chains. Who had done that?  
She rubbed her eyes and looked at the strange little chamber. This wasn’t her room.  
She hummed to herself, getting back on her feet. Wilson had been happy. She nodded. That meant everything was going to be okay. Tomorrow was going to be the big day. 

That morning it was still raining, but the day looked far from gloomy. To Wilson, everything had a silver sheen to it. A silver lining, he thought.  
‘Today is the big day!,’ he said.  
He took the plate of bacon and eggs, handed to him. He paused, looking at it a second time.  
‘I killed a big tall bird,’ Wigfrid said. ‘It had an egg.’  
‘Thank you!’ He wolfed it down and then pointed towards the space they’d cleared by the rows of chests.  
‘We’re going to build the machine today. Our way out!’ He walked to one side of the fire, then back while he talked. Chester followed him. The eyes of the group following him. He stuck out his chest. It was easy to speak, now that they could finally begin. He would take them all away from here. Today, they’d make it work!  
‘Winona, I need you to stick to the machine when it’s finished. You’re going to repair it when They tear it down.’  
‘Sure thing, boss. Who?  
‘The monsters,’ Wigfrid said. She rubbed her hands. ‘I’m going to kill them.’  
‘That’s right.’ Wilson grinned, coming to a halt in front of Webber. ‘I need you-’  
‘-to stay out of the way?’ Webber held his gaze.  
Wilson nodded, taken aback a little. ‘Yes.’  
Webber stopped himself from pouting and folded his arms. ‘Okay.’  
‘Thank you for understanding,’ Wilson said. ‘Now I won’t put you into a boarding school when we get back home.’  
‘What?’  
‘Focus, Webber.’ Wilson raised his arms. ‘I need everyone to get a good breakfast! Then join me on the building site.’  
Wigfrid buried her face into a pile of steaks.  
‘I’m looking forward to this,’ Winona said.  
Wigfrid grinned with her mouth full. ‘You don’t know what’s coming.’  
‘Exactly, it’s exiting!’  
Wigfrid shook her head at this, but she smiled. 

The rain intensified, making puddles in the ground and turning the ground to mud.  
Wilson took a deep breath of the fresh air. ‘Wes, do you have your spear?’  
Wes held his weapon, he’d had it ready and had thrown out anything that resembled it too much.  
‘Maxwell?’  
Maxwell jumped. He’d stayed behind the group somewhat, enjoying the lack of attention. He held up his hand. ‘Here.’  
‘You’re on shadow duty. That means picking them up when they start falling and feeding them to the machine.’  
‘I’m sure that will make sense when it’s time to do that.’  
‘Self-explanatory,’ Wilson assured him. He clapped his hands, positioning himself on the spot he’d marked out. He waved at Webber, hiding in the base by the boulder. The boy waved back.  
‘This will be loud,’ Wilson said. ‘Ready yourself for that.’  
Now, I’m building the machine.

Charlie sat up on the rose colored carpet. There was a lot of shouting going on.  
She rubbed her eyes and pulled a tangle of hair out of her mouth. ‘Are we going home?’

Wilson stared at his hands in the mud. Someone dragged him upright.  
He spat out blood and stared at the machine. It spun with light, stable, at last.  
Wes dragged him on, covered in ink and blood, limping. As much hanging onto him as supporting the weight.  
The field was painted black, shimmering in the rainfall.  
Wigfrid, breathing hard and clenching her side, nodded at them.  
Maxwell sat at the base of the machine, legs out in front of him. He held the shadow sword, the end sticking in the earth. Webber cowered at his side.  
Wilson stared, how had that happened? When?  
It didn’t matter.  
‘It’s stable.’ Wilson stood on his own, gazing up at the view from behind the portal. ‘Look.’ 

The stone wall of a cliff-side loomed at them from the beyond, blue in the evening light, incredible and real. A clear sky, free from rain, stretched out over it.  
Wilson could almost see the top of the cliff, they weren’t far from it at all. He could reach out and touch it. The portal angled up towards it.  
Wilson let out a visible breath in the chill air. ‘We did it. I knew we could.’  
Winona tripped into his field of vision. Her eyes were big and her face pale, but she sounded sane. ‘I made a hook. On a.. a…’ She rubbed her knuckles on a blood-smeared gash across her forehead ‘A rope!’  
Wilson took it from her. He aimed for a sturdy branch, growing out of the stone beneath the top of the cliff.  
He swung the rope and let the hook sail through the portal’s light.  
It sailed on to the other side, hitting the branch and then secured itself around the wood.  
Wilson’s heart skipped a beat. This is it.  
He held the rope to freedom in his hands.  
‘I’m climbing up,’ he said. ‘When I get on top of that cliff I’ll lower another rope. Pull you up.’ 

His hands shook, and he clenched the rope tight. There was nothing that could make him let go. His entire body was here to do this one job.  
Winona hugged him. No, she had tied a rope around his waist, securing it with a knot and handing the end to Wes.  
‘Smart,’ he breathed.  
Wilson steadied one foot against the rock of the cliff.  
One foot out of the grave, one more.  
Then he was standing and pulling himself up, walking away from the portal.  
That’s it, he realised. I’m out.  
He looked back and saw their tired, battered faces staring up at him. It looked so dark in that world, rain soaked and streaked with lightning.  
They looked hopeful, fearful, amazed.  
Then he saw the rocks down below, and the ocean. A gust of wind lifted the smell of salt and the cry of gulls.  
He might be close to the top but very far from the crushing shoreline below. 

He had to look away. Focus. That’s why he saw the person standing above him. A small, lonely figure. A girl with light hair. She didn’t even look down when she jumped.  
Wilson kicked away from the cliff and reached for her. Didn’t even think about it until he caught her arm.  
Her impact on the rope made the branch snap, sending them both down.

Wilson only noticed the sudden pain around his chest as the rescue rope caught them again.  
He squirmed, holding onto the stranger, as they were pulled back up and through the portal. 

Webber had found his voice again, and he was jumping up and down.  
‘She jumped! Why! Now the branch broke off! How are we going to get through?’  
Lightning split the sky and thunder rolled over them. A storm had begun.  
‘We’ll make a ladder!’ Winona yelled over the wind.  
Maxwell pointed at the sky. ‘We shouldn’t be standing here!’  
Wilson, on his knees and breathing hard, undid the rope so he could speak.  
Then he looked up with fear in his eyes.  
‘I didn’t build a lightning rod.’  
It seemed to him the sky grinned in delight as it opened up to barf a bolt of lightning down at him.  
He got in the way, arms spread out in defiance. It hit the portal all the same.  
There was no drama to it. Just a burst of flame and the machine fizzled out, nothing but a charcoal archway where the light had been.

Wilson let it all go. He fell on his side in a puddle, stunned and pale.  
Winona tried to help him up but he wouldn’t move.  
Her brows knitted. ‘But the storm-’  
‘Damn the storm!’ Wilson yelled. ‘It won’t kill me, it wants to torment me!’  
Maxwell put a hand on her shoulder. ‘We have to get back.’  
Webber took a step but Maxwell stopped him.  
‘Dad?’  
Wilson wouldn’t face him. ‘Go.’  
‘But the rain!’  
‘I said GO! I can’t handle this right now!’  
Webber ran away.  
Maxwell picked up the girl, that had come through at the most inopportune time, and headed back to the base.  
After a while Winona and Wes followed.  
Wigfrid stayed. Leaning on her spear.  
Chester sat next to him getting soaked.

‘I thought we had it,’ Wilson said after a while.  
Wigfrid rubbed her hand underneath her nose. ‘We did.’  
‘But I lost it.’  
‘You got out. It works. We all saw.’  
Wilson shook his head, unable to speak. He swallowed, getting onto his knees, head hanging down.  
The sound of footsteps patting up to him through the rain. Webber slid through the mud, covering them both. He splatted down onto his knees, sticking out his hands full of berries. ‘Here! You said it was important. You said it!’  
Wilson didn’t move.  
Webber pushed them into his chest.  
‘Eat the berries!’.  
Wilson’s hand enclosed the child’s. Then he took the offered food and ate it.  
Webber got behind him and pushed his back until his father stood, and together with Wigfrid, they walked back to base. 

‘I got fifteen stones left,’ Winona was saying. ‘I’m thinking of going back to the quarry tomorrow. Really get my back into it. I’m not sure if the stones come back, though. There might not be enough.’  
Maxwell, watching the crock pot, shrugged. ‘Maybe we can look for another source, there has to be more than one stone field.’  
Wes waved at them, then mimed holding binoculars and pointed at himself.  
‘You saw some?’ Winona asked.  
‘I think you mean that you want to go and look,’ Maxwell said.  
Wes nodded at this.  
Wilson took a space by the fire and managed a wry smile. ‘I should be the one to go. I won’t get lost.’  
Winona placed her hands onto her waist. ‘You take a rest tomorrow. Get that arm healed.’  
Wilson frowned. ‘What arm?’  
They stared at him and he looked down.  
‘Oh shit!’ The moment he saw his dangling limb a stab of pain liquified his belly.  
Maxwell took a hold of his elbow, then pushed his arm up and towards the spine.  
Wilson would have collapsed had Wigfrid not eased him down to a seating log by the fire.  
Wilson wriggled his fingers. ‘Thanks.’  
‘I didn’t know I could do that,’ Maxwell said.  
Webber beamed at the group. ‘Well shit, I’m glad that you did!’  
‘Webber!’ Winona, Wilson and Maxwell called out in unison.  
Wes clasped his cheeks, mouth open. Wigfrid laughed. 

‘How’s the girl?’ Wilson asked.  
Maxwell had placed her on a mat by the fire. This was becoming a tradition by now.  
‘Such bad luck,’ Winona said, sitting down with a plate of vegetable skewers.  
‘Yeah,’ Webber said, ‘she just jumped without looking. ‘That’s dangerous.’  
Maxwell stared down at the child. There was something familiar about her. He felt like he should know her name. ‘Very bad luck indeed,’ he said, folding his arms and looking thoughtful.  
Wilson managed a plate of meatballs, his eyes trailing to the darkened treeline. This close by the fire, the wind and rain didn’t bother them but the storm was still going strong. He shuddered.  
‘We’ll have to start over. Again.’  
‘We’ll manage,’ Winona said. ‘I have some great ideas to help us work better. I think.’  
Webber sat next to him, leaning in.  
‘We were so close!’ the boy said. ‘Next time we’ll make it out.’  
Wigfrid tended to her spear. ‘I killed so many shadow creepers. You too, Wes. Good job!’  
Wes smiled an empty smile and shrugged.  
Wilson placed his hand on Chester’s fur. People were talking and cooking, making plans.Then he thought about Charlie and his chest tightened. 

Charlie took a break from throwing things because she was out of breath from screaming things. Her shoulders shook.  
She pressed her fist into her chest and groaned. Why don’t I just die?  
‘Oh dear,’ someone said.  
Charlie looked up. It was her, she’d said it herself.  
This Charlie looked fine. Dressed in black and smiling. She held out her hand.  
Charlie looked away.  
‘You want to sit there and mope?’ She tutted. ‘There’s work to do. Everyone is still counting on you. Poor Wilson can’t do it alone. And now you’ve set the messenger free. This won’t do. ’  
Charlie shook her head. ‘I can’t do this anymore!’ She shivered. ‘And now there’s another one. A little girl!’ She pressed her fingertips to her lips. ‘I know her. I think I know her.’  
‘Charlie.’  
‘Be quiet.’  
‘Chaaaarlie.’  
‘What!’ She turned.  
The other Charlie didn’t look like her at all, a great black mouth tore the pale face in half, the eyes were bleeding shadows. ‘Help me,’ it gurgled.  
Charlie screamed, then it pounced on her. 

When Charlie climbed back onto her throne, because that was what it was, she felt better.  
There were some thoughts that had gone missing, but a calm had come in its place.  
The sounds of happiness by the fire didn’t bother her anymore either.  
‘I can help you all,’ she said, smiling with her eyes full of shadows. ‘I’m here for you. We’ll make it out together.’  
At the crafting table two shadow hands worked on the next package. She didn’t need to leave her throne now, she could rest.


	17. Just a resource run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up buttercup, I found the time to Write! <3 
> 
> This is the finale to the second series, going to take a little time to plan the next part out in more detail. Thank you for reading, be safe :D 
> 
> This gets messy, warning for gore and violence.

Wurt stared at the empty chest by the side of her house. Was it that time already?  
Yes, the heat was rising, even on the swamp. But she hadn’t found time to search for a trinket. Soon the strongest of their clan would gather and venture out.  
An arm pushed her aside, the force sending her back into the wall and onto the street.  
She coughed, but overrode the urge to cower, standing up immediately before someone could even think of grabbing her.  
She managed a smile. You didn’t hurt me at all!  
Glup’s shape loomed over her, silhouetted in the cruel sunlight.  
Wurt relaxed her shoulders, her voice loud, full of good humor. ‘I forgot!’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘Thanks for the reminder, I’ll get one today.’  
Glup pointed his beefy finger at her. ‘You lazy! You find more food for king! King hungry!’  
Wurt nodded, she wiped at her nose and her hand came away bloody. What blood? She wiped it on her dress, not showing a sign of upset. That was not how you survived.  
Another nod. ‘Yeah, I noticed the water’s getting low. Should still be enough fish left in the barrels. We’ve been through worse heatwaves.’  
She’d made it out of the alleyway.  
‘You lazy!’ Glup called after her. ‘You no care!’  
Wurt waved at him and walked away. Walk, don’t run. 

Wilson jumped up as the ground began to shake. ‘It’s happening! Everyone, out! Get out of the base! Run!’  
The sunlight seared his vision as the group dashed away from the walls. The intensity of it made him gasp, had it ever been this hot?  
The grass crackled where he ran, spitting open into a spiderweb of dry earth. A pain went through him and he tripped, falling over backwards into someone else.  
He knew it was Maxwell. As the ground shook, sending out more cracks, he closed his eyes. For a justifiable moment Wison let himself be held. Tipping his head back as the gloved hands grasped his shoulders, steadying him on the uneven terrain.  
He leaned into the other man, hearing his heartbeat in his head though the earthquake.  
Just this once. Just a second longer.  
Then it was over and he untangled himself. Wilson rubbed his face with his hands.  
‘Get into the shadows!,’ he yelled.  
He helped Maxwell to his feet, not daring to look into the man’s eyes.  
There was no need to tell anyone to seek the shade. Nobody wanted to stay where the sun could touch them.  
He checked their dusty faces, then sighed.  
‘Wendy?’  
Winona groaned. Wes rolled his eyes.  
‘The girl wants to be gone all the time,’ Wigfrid said. ‘Let her, I say.’  
Webber held up his hand. ‘She snuck away before morning. I’ll go look for her.’  
‘Webber!’  
The boy stopped. ‘She’s by the rose pond,’ Wilson said. ‘Be careful, the hounds are getting restless. Come back when you hear them, okay?’  
Webber rolled his eyes but smiled. ‘I know, dad.’ 

Wigfrid toed the ugly scar in the ground. This time their main builds had been spared. It seemed personal, the way the damage only happened where they stood.  
‘The earth wants to eat out base.’  
‘I don’t know why this keeps happening,’ Winona said. ‘We need some kind of warning system.’  
‘Bells?’  
‘Something like that,’ she said, her eyes distant, already thinking.  
Wigfrid removed her helmet, the warm air clinging to her sweat-damp hair.  
‘It’s like wallowing inside the bowels of Jörmungandr,’ she said.  
‘Here.’  
Wigfrid frowned at the thing in Winona’s hand. She took it.  
‘Now run around. Go on.’  
Wigfrid did so. The little fan produced a puff of fresh air against her face.  
The woman clutched her hands together. ‘Is it working?’  
‘It works fine,’ the warrior answered. Unable to say anything negative to the bright and expectant face. ‘Thank you.’  
‘I’m so glad! I’ll go and meditate by the science machines. Deep thoughts are needed for this earth shattering problem!’  
Wigfrid watched her run off to sit between the little collection of machines. Since Winona was here there had been lots of inventing going on.  
She’d always thought Wilson was the maker of things, but with the woman it seemed ingrained. It made her happy to tinker, unable to stop thinking about it.  
Wilson did only what was necessary.  
She twirled the little fan on a stick between her fingers, then tugged it into her inventory. While fighting beasts she needed her hands free, but she’d keep it with her. Maybe for good luck? 

Wilson found himself rearranging the chests. He spaced them out in case of a fire. It would happen eventually.  
He knew how those flames could spread. How the fire would rage on through the night taking the days away with blackening smoke. A tremor went through him and it was difficult to breathe. The air felt like liquid in his lungs.  
Chester barked at him, insisten and sharp. He knelt to pet him.  
Deep breaths. Chester licked his wrist, rolling onto his back for some well deserved bellyrubs. Wilson obliged. The half-memories faded and he came back to the relative cool of the shadow of the tree. Winona had planted some around in the base, it was a good idea.  
‘Sorry, I think this belongs to you?’ It was Maxwell. ‘You dropped it during the big fight.’  
Wilson took another deep breath and stood.  
Maxwell held the shadow sword, of all things.  
The scientist folded his arms, head tipped to one side. ‘Isn’t that hurting you?’  
Maxwell’s eyebrows shot up, eyes wide. ‘Should it?’  
A chuckle left Wilson’s lips before he could bite back on it. He straightened his shoulders. ‘You don’t feel like you’re going insane?’  
Maxwell studied the blade, then shrugged. ‘There is this kind of pull, but it’s not… I don’t know. It isn’t reaching me.’  
‘Keep it. It’s yours anyway.’  
Maxwell stared at it, eyes intense, af if trying to make it speak to him. ‘It does feel familiar.’  
Wilson wanted to have something else to do. But he was waiting for Wes and Wigfrid to get their inventories organised.  
They were going to a new, distant, stonefield with the intention of staying overnight. They needed optimal space to take the resources back.  
He sighed. ‘You can use it. It’s good protection for while we’re gone. But I advise you to hide in the sleeping area, should something happen.’ He waved his hand. ‘Winona doubled the walls. You should be fine until we make it back.’  
‘She’ll like the opportunity to try out her new flare.’ Maxwell nodded his chin up. ‘You have something.’  
Wilson touched his left ear.  
‘No, the other side. At the.. let me.’  
Maxwell reached for Wilson’s shoulder. The pressure of his hands lingered for an instant longer than was necessary, his thumb touching his neck. A feather fell to the ground.  
‘There.’  
Wilson, a manic smile on his face and his eyes wide, kicked the feather. ‘Can’t hurt to look our best, hm? Staying dapper.’  
‘I think that could be my motto,’ Maxwell said.  
‘It is!’  
‘How nice.’  
‘Just punch me, while you’re at it.’  
‘What?’  
Wilson fled, jogging away towards the others. ‘There they are-see you all soon-say goodbye to Webber for me-we’ll be right back!’

Maxwell stared after the running man. Then his eyes became downcast and the shadow of a smile appeared on his face. Why was he doing this?  
He brushed his thumb across his lower lip, reliving the wild heartbeat he’d felt jumping out of Wilson’s neck.  
Why tease like that?  
Maxwell closed his eyes and could see the blush creep back on Wilson’s face.  
He shook himself. Quit while you’re ahead. None of it belongs to you.  
The magician walked back to camp, hurrying through the aching light.  
Damned I may be, but the real Maxwell owned some of that man. Wilson seemed to search for it in his face some days.  
And there was a hurt there too. That belonged to me as well.  
He came to a standstill in the heat, letting it engulf him.  
He’d been asking himself the same questions over and over. What did I do?  
What is there to know about me and you, Wilson, that you won’t tell me.  
A hollow ache bloomed up in his chest, shaking him from the inside out.  
Nothing. There is nothing left.  
‘Out of the heat!’ strong hands guided him into the shadow.  
Winona sat him down by the tree she’d planted in the middle of their base, and forced a watermelon into his hands.  
‘Eat that. You’re burning up!’  
Maxwell obeyed. ‘Thank you.’  
She smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’ Then she plunked a straw hat onto his head.  
‘There. That should keep the sun off your noggin for a while.’  
Maxwell hid underneath it, finishing the cooling snack.  
She sighed, holding a little box in her hand. ‘Wilson went off without his med kit. The others should have him covered. Should anything happen.’  
Maxwell looked up, his voice strained. ‘Where are the children? They should be back by now.’

Wurt inhaled the smell of roses while she sat by the pond, fishing rod in hand. It was cool by the water. Watching the dappled light dance of the surface distracted her from herself.  
She’d washed the blood of her face and then started on her daily fishing goal.  
The king didn’t care about trinkets, or about the trek into the desert to appease the Beast. His majesty craved his fish. Her eye twitched. As was His Royal Majesty’s Right.  
She let out a shaking breath and saw she was not alone.  
A girl sat watching her across from the pond. She looked composed and neat, except when you looked closer. Then her eyes were too bright and her blonde hair was unkempt. And one of the two red flowers, she wore in her hair, was dead.  
There was something unnerving about the way she sat, perched like a bird, chin up and cold eyes staring.  
She was the new one.  
Wurt got ready to go, when she saw the thing in the girl’s lap. A trinket! One of the toy ones.  
She held out her hand. ‘Can I have that?’  
The girl clutched it tight. Then she laughed, a sound as cold as her eyes. ‘No.’ She made the word sound unkind, like Wurt had asked something incredible of her.  
Wurt made her own face emotionless. ‘You’re one of them.’  
The girl shook her head. ‘I am alone.’  
‘They feed you, give you a bed. Don’t they give you enough toys? I really need that one. It’s better for everyone.’  
The girl laughed at her, shaking her head. ‘You sound so ridiculous! You should hear yourself speak!’  
With a crash of foliage, Webber jumped out of a bush. ‘There you are! Wendy you have to go back to camp. You can’t keep running away! It’s dangerous.’  
Wendy stood. She was taller than both of them.  
You’re still just a little girl, Wurt thought. You won’t last one second in my village.  
‘I can do what I want,’ Wendy said. ‘Nobody gets to decide over me. Not even Wilson.’  
Webber blinked, noticing the other person there. ‘Oh, hey Wurt.’  
Wurt stood there for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Hi, Webber.’  
Wendy clapped her hands together, smiling without her eyes. ‘Aren’t you two adorable together. Here, fetch!’  
She tossed the trinket into the water.  
Wurt jumped after it. She was quick underwater, her speed made them stare.  
She jumped back out with equal speed, landing with a grace that seemed natural. They were still staring.  
Wendy tossed her hair back. ‘You look weird when you swim.’  
Wurt looked down at her feet. It was a heavy day and she wasn’t feeling up to insults from strangers. 

Webber looked at Wurt, then at Wendy, and felt the heat rise in his face.  
‘Wendy, every day since you woke up you try to make everybody hate you and you know what, Wendy?’  
She looked down at him, every inch of her unimpressed. ‘What?’  
‘You are a shit!’  
Wendy’s mouth opened, then closed.  
‘You’re a shit, Wendy!’ He stamped his foot. ‘And I hate you! You don’t want to eat, you talk back all the time! Everyone is less happy when you sit away from the fire like you hate everybody!’  
Wendy quivered and her eyes glared. For a moment the air seemed to shimmer around her, becoming lighter above her head. She shouted back at him. ‘Because I DO hate everybody!’  
Wurt glanced sideways, unhappy to be a part of this.  
‘My dad said he was sorry!’  
‘I don’t care!’  
‘You don’t even try to help us get back out!’  
‘I don’t care!’  
‘You didn’t look where you were going!’ Webber’s voice broke. ‘I saw you! My dad saved you!’  
They had gotten closer together during their shouting match, teeth bared.  
Wendy leaned in, poking him in the chest with her finger at every word. ‘I.Don’t.Care.’  
Webber looked ready to hit her.  
‘Idiots!’  
Their heads turned to Wurt.  
She waved at them, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t you hear them? Hounds!’  
Now they could hear the snarls. They had a tiny window of time before the attack happened.  
Webber jumped from one foot on the other. ‘We’re too far from the base! No, oh no. What do we do?’  
‘Underwater,’ Wurt pointed at the pond. ‘Hold your breath for half an hour, they mostly move on to other prey then. It can buy you time.’  
Wendy sneered. ‘We can’t hold our breath like that! We’re normal!’  
‘We’re too far from the base!’ Webber yelled. ‘We can’t make it back in time!’  
‘You already said that!’ Wendy looked uncomfortable. The sounds were closer, coming from all around them.  
Webber cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Dad! We’re here! Wigfrid!’  
Wurt ran towards them, and on to a tree. ‘Come here, we can climb!’  
The boy’s eyes went blank for a moment. ‘Climb?’ Then he slapped his forehead. ‘The trees, I forgot!’  
He threw a rope up to a branch and it fell back down.  
Wurt let herself fall to all fours. ‘Get up!’  
Wendy’s lip quivered. ‘Don’t leave me!’ She stepped onto Wurt’s back and jumped up, grabbed the branch and hoisted herself to safety.  
Webber threw the rope to her. ‘Wendy!’  
She didn’t react.  
‘WENDY!’  
She fell onto the branch, eyes closed, holding out her hands.  
He caught them, struggling up by the trunk.  
When he looked back down the hounds were there. Bile rose in his throat. The world reeled.  
But then he saw Wurt had gone into the pond. A small figure huddled down on the bottom underneath the surface.  
He cupped his mouth again. ‘Dad! WES! Wigfrid!’  
The hounds tore into the tree, their claws raking bark, making the tree bleed sap.  
‘Dad!’  
Wendy was crying.  
One of the hounds threw its body against the trunk, making it shake. They clung to the branch.  
The beast ran back, running up from further away.  
‘DAD! Help us!’  
Again the hound hit the trunk, making leaves fall, making the wood groan. Then the tree sagged, bringing them closer to the snapping jaws. This sent the hounds into frenzy, jumping, flicking saliva, eyes mad with hunger.  
The children held on and screamed.

The hound fought his way back through the bunch, taking distance, aiming for the tree. A dark sword went through its belly, cutting it in half without effort.  
It didn’t have time to make a sound other than splitting open and spilling its guts.  
The scent of wet blood made the pack turn. Eyes on the fresh kill.  
Maxwell cut two more of them while they devoured their own.  
The sword sang in his mind. There was indeed a pull, a song maybe, that he couldn’t hear or feel. He saw Webber and the girl, and he needed to get to them. 

Webber couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard Wendy.  
‘There’s so much blood,’ she said, her voice high and shaking. Then the sound of throwing up.  
‘It’s alright,’ Maxwell said. ‘Let it out.’  
He sat upright and fell. Maxwell caught him, lifting him over something that made his footsteps squelch. He put him down by a bush.  
Webber sagged, his eyes wide. ‘Maxwell?’  
The man smiled at him, streaked in gore. Webber’s head spun and he sat down. That brought him at eye level with what was left of the pack. He turned away and retched.  
Maxwell whipped the sword, sending some bits flying into the undergrowth. His lip twitched. ‘Works a bit too well, almost.’  
The moment he put the sword away he could feel a weight settled down over him. Did all of this around him once breathe? How did any of it fit together at all? The red and pink and white spun around him in a horrendous mosaic. And the smell.  
Webber shuddered. ‘Maxwell, can we go?’  
The man nodded.  
A third person threw up.  
They ended up taking Wurt along. No one spoke.

Webber was the first to break the silence. ‘This isn’t the way to the base… is it?’  
Maxwell looked up, his legs had taken them to the edge of a stone plane. This made him frown, then he saw the shimmer of water in the distance. ‘I think I brought us here to clean ourselves up?’  
The grim group walked over the rocky terrain, caked in viscera and blood, except for Wurt.  
Something giant, beating its wings in the distance, hovered in the heat shimmers of lava pools. It didn’t come for them, staying put.  
Maxwell tested the water of the hotspring. ‘It’s tolerable.’ He sank into it, clothes and all, and let out a sigh. Various things detached from him and dissipated into the water.  
Webber let himself fall in head first, floating on his back and pinching his eyes closed.  
Avoiding her own reflection, Wendy sat at the side, washing her face and arms without comment.  
Wurt hesitated, then sat in the water next to Maxwell.  
‘How did you know this was here?’ Webber asked, drifting by.  
Maxwell leaned his head back, sinking deeper. ‘Maybe I went here before? I can’t remember.’  
It feels familiar alright, he thought. Haunted by images I can’t quite see.  
When he half-closed his eyes, white tangles of silk danced in the water around him. Not a happy memory. He wiped at his eyes and sighed.  
‘Does my dad know this exists? It’s cool.’  
‘Ask him when he gets back. Oh, he told me to say goodbye.’  
Wendy sat up, her hands bunched into fists. ‘He left us?’  
Not used to her speaking up like this, Maxwell and Webber glanced at her.  
‘He’ll be back,’ Maxwell said.  
Webber splashed water at her. ‘You’re still all dirty.’  
To their surprise Wendy dove in. She swam underwater and resurfaced away from them. Then started talking to herself, that was familiar.  
‘I knew this was here,’ a little voice said. Wurt watched her hand move through the water. ‘Never dreamed of going in, though. It’s nice.’  
Maxwell offered her a small smile. ‘Soothing, isn’t it?’  
She shrugged. ‘I guess.’ She stopped moving, her lips pinched while she spoke. ‘I still have so many fish to catch. It’s difficult to imagine, getting back to work when the water is this good.’  
Webber hit the water, going under and coming up coughing. ‘I want to go fishing! Can we go fishing, Maxwell? Wurt, will you teach us? Can we?’  
Wurt and Maxwell looked at eachother, Wendy stopped talking. 

Wilson tripped over a log, his face came to a stop inches from the ground.  
Wigfrid hauled him upright by his arm.  
‘Sorry,’ he said, a hand to the back of his neck. ‘I thought I saw hounds. On the, on the map.’  
‘You want to go back?’  
He shook his head, both of them taking on a walking pace. ‘They were gone too fast to be really there. It’s difficult to focus this far away.’  
Up ahead, Wes signed something. Then waved for them to hurry.  
Before them lay the desert, but that was not what the mime had seen. He pointed to a long line of merms, trudging through the sand.  
Wigfrid clenched her spear, putting her helmet back on her head. ‘Where are they going?’  
‘Let’s find out,’ Wilson decided. ‘As long as it’s on the way, it doesn’t hurt to see what they’re up to.’  
The three of them followed, hidden behind the dunes. They took turns carrying the cooling amulet. Winona had crafted it out a blue gem and some gold. It shone bright against the summer glare, granting the wearer some respite from the heat.  
Then they saw it, the thing the merms were wandering towards.  
Wigfrid took a step back, a hand to her heart. ‘Giant of stone, Hrungnir, is that you I see with my own eyes?’  
Wilson dropped onto his belly. Inching forward through the blistering sand to look down from the dune. It was indeed a giant, towering over the many merms. A scaled creature with mandibles bigger than a beefalo. Orange and red, with a crest of sand-colored spikes adorning the alien head.  
It looked royal, in a savage kind of way. It seemed to listen to the merms, one of which raised its arms towards it. It offered it something.  
Then all the merms stepped forward, casting thinkets at the creature.  
The beast leaned back and slammed its claws into the sand. A shockwave hit the three watchers, making them fall back and roll off the dune.  
It went through the world.  
By the time Wilson made it back up, the creature had bent it’s head close to the merms. He ducked when some looked at the dune.  
‘Let’s go,’ he said, pulling Wigfrid and Wes along. ‘Before they notice we’re here. We have work to do.’  
Wigfrid dug in her heels. ‘We could attack them. They have a disadvantage here on the sand!’  
‘Leave ‘em to their strange rituals,’ Wilson said. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to fight them when we get back.’  
Wigfrid sighed. ‘Onwards to the cutting of stone, a noble but boring task.’  
Wes held out his hands, gesturing over to where the ritual was taking place. He mimicked the creature and the claws hitting the ground, then he pretended to walk on shaking ground, falling down at the end.  
The others looked at him. Wilson rubbed his chin. ‘Maybe, we’ll have to see if this fixes the earthquakes. Who knows.’  
‘Giants are powerful,’ Wigfrid added. They went on with their own trek, as the sun burned and tormented them.

The light danced on the water’s surface, lapping at the fissureline. Wurt sat in the grass. Next to her in line were the others, each of them holding a rod like hers.  
Wendy, sitting a little apart from them, held up her catch.  
‘I do believe that I caught the biggest fish,’ she said. ‘Bigger than anyone’s catch, for sure.’  
Webber stuck out his tongue at her, she didn’t seem to notice.  
‘Here,’ she said, tossing it at Wurt.  
‘Wendy,’ Maxwell said, ‘we can give them to her. No need to throw.’ He leaned back in the dry grass, straw hat on his head and feet in the water, eyes closed.  
Wendy rolled her eyes at him, casting out her line again. ‘I’m going to catch an even bigger fish. Bigger than anyone has ever seen.’  
Wurt had pocketed their catches throughout the afternoon. With their help she was meeting her quota in no time at all. She was actually above it already, but she couldn’t make herself leave. Not yet.  
A wave rushed up the shore, drenching them while a rumble went through the earth.  
Wurt jumped up. ‘It’s the beast, it speaks!’ She held her head. ‘They went without me! I’m too late! … I have to go.’ She cast them all one last look, her eyes full of feeling. ‘Thank you for the fish!’ Then she ran.  
Webber jumped up to shout after her. ‘Be careful!’  
She was already gone.  
Wendy put down her fishing rod. ‘Do you think her parents beat her?’  
‘You always say things to upset people,’ Webber said. ‘You do it on purpose. I don’t think she has parents. Maxwell, do merms have parents?’  
‘They have a king,’ he said.  
Wendy stretched. ‘Maybe he lays eggs and the merms hatch from them.’  
‘We should go back,’ Maxwell said. ‘It will be dark soon. And Winona doesn’t know where we are.’

Wendy waited until the two of them had moved on, then followed them in her own time.  
She smirked when they kept looking back. It was fun to have them worry about if she was coming. But actually, they just didn’t want to run after her, should she flee.  
Noone liked her. That was how she wanted it to be. It was hard work.  
On their way back they walked past the rounded stone plate in the forest. The others didn’t even see it. Ordinary people didn’t notice these things.  
She brushed her hand up to her hair, her fingers flinching away when they touched a living flower, instead of a dry dead one. She stared at the two flowers in her hand, hers and Abigail’s. Both shockingly the same. How could it be? What did it mean?  
‘Wendy?’  
She ran back into view, her heartbeat in her throat. She wanted to be closer to the others suddenly, leaving the creepy platform behind.  
It was where she’d run to that night. Wilson had found her, beating back the shadows with a torch.  
He’d apologised. Wendy folded her arms. Af if she cared. He was so stupid! Apologising for dragging her into this world. He didn’t know anything.  
And Webber had apparently followed them and heard. Stupid Webber. Stupid Maxwell. Everyone here was annoying and stupid. They all wanted so many things ALL the time.  
Couldn’t they just stop?  
‘They should just mind their own business. Don’t you think so, Abigail?’  
She covered her mouth and giggled, pretending to hear her sister’s answer. ‘That’s harsh of you to say. But you are right.’

‘There you are!’ Winona ran to them from the base. ‘There were some hounds, but my new invention took care of them. Did they get you?’  
‘There wasn’t a problem,’ Maxwell said, and left it at that.  
‘Maxwell fought them off,’ Webber said. ‘Then we got cleaned up.’  
Winona ruffled his hair. ‘That’s okay then. We should stay close to the base. Any hounds that come sniffing around here will be really sorry.’  
She looked at Wendy. The girl smiled at her with closed eyes. ‘Here.’  
Winona caught the fish, tossed at her face.  
‘Well... thank you, Wendy.’  
Webber spun round. ‘You were supposed to give them to Wurt!’  
The girl’s eyes flared. ‘It’s MY catch, I can do what I want!’  
‘I’ll cook this for you tonight,’ Winona said. ‘If you are going to eat it.’  
Wendy shrugged, turning her back to everyone.  
Maxwell, sitting by the cooling flames of the blue firepit, held his head. ‘Can we maybe be quiet for a bit? Just a minute?’  
Winona placed her hands to her hips. ‘Who wants to take a ride on our new catapult?’  
Webber screamed, then covered his mouth, still screaming. They left the old man sitting alone.  
Maxwell breathed out through his nose, hunching up to let his neck relax, arms lying as they wanted to.  
To his surprise the afternoon had been fun.

When Wurt entered her village it was in an uproar. She managed to dodge and dive her way to the enclosure of the King.  
A crowd had gathered around the presence of His Majesty.  
Glup was speaking. ‘It true, king. The beast told us this!’  
Her brother turned to speak to the crowd. ‘They leave! The three fighters are gone. False pig king is gone! They leave woman and children and Maxwell alone!’  
The king raised his arms, also wriggling the feelers around his face.  
Wurt clasped her head against the sudden pressure, as did everyone else.  
A hush fell across the crowd, in which the monarch spoke. ‘Want heads! Want eat their belly stuffings!’ He threw down his arms and kicked his legs. ‘Where Wurt! Want Wurt fish!’  
Wurt tripped forward, her body throwing itself into the command.  
As she’d come close enough the king lunged for her. His hand closed around her face. He lifted her above his open mouth.  
His majesty shook her and the rich catch spilled out.  
So many! The silver bodies kept tumbling down, glinting in the light of the setting sun. They piled and piled. Wurt fell onto them as the king let her go. She scrambled out of the way of those crushing jaws. Landing into the reaching crowd, all of them hungry for a share.  
She was kicked and elbowed in the throng.  
‘Get ready for slaughter!’ the king bellowed between bites. ‘When night come you go spike heads in victory! You bring back snack bodies to king!’  
Wurt stumbled out of the way, leaning against the wall of an alley.  
She shivered. Just a few less fish to land on, and… she shook her head.  
I have to warn them!  
A hand grabbed her dress, yanking her up into the air.  
Glup dangled her over his head. ‘Have fish for Glup?’  
Wurt laughed and it sounded manic. ‘Yes! I have a secret fish stash! Just for you! Come, so many fish!’  
He dropped her, kicking her forward with his foot. ‘You show me!’  
‘I’ll show you, Glup.’

When she saw her door, Wurt ran for it, squirming through the hole in the wood.  
Glup reached after her, yelling indignantly, ripping her dress with his claws.  
But Wurt was prepared. She rearranged her mirror, the big pearly shell, to lean against the wall next to the entrance.  
Glup pulled her back, swearing. Wurt clung to the shell, making it lean to the side, to the door. Then it fell all on its own, taking Glup’s arm off with its razor edge.  
The merm fell back on the street, gurgling in shock. His screams were drowned by the other’s cries for battle, already heading out across the swamp into the dusk.  
Wurt stepped over the severed limb. She went through the hole and ran. 

‘Wilson?’  
He shook his head. ‘I’m here.’  
Wigfrid, her pickaxe on her shoulder, nodded at him. ‘Are they okay?’  
‘It’s difficult to see, this far away.’ He massaged his temples. ‘They’re by the base. No hounds.’ He sighed. ‘We should be able to leave them for one night. If we finish here we won’t have to go back ever again.’  
‘I’m worried,’ she looked away. ‘Have a bad feeling in my gut.’  
‘Then eat something. What is more important than finishing the machine, our way out?’  
He turned away from her, going back at demolishing the rock formation in front of him.  
Wes, at work by his own stone, stared at the sky. The mime could hear music for a moment, a sad melody, then he shook his head. “Stay in the moment.”  
Wigfrid clenched and unclenched her hands around her pick. Then she went back to work. 

Webber, Wendy and Winona lay on their backs in the summer grass. Maxwell sat by them. They’d made a little campfire outside of the base and he added a stick here and there. Crickets chirped in the gloom, and the heat lingered even now.  
‘That’s a star,’ Winona said, pointing up.  
‘There’s another one,’ Webber said.  
Wendy rolled her eyes, then she sighed. ‘I think I see one too.’  
‘Really?’ Winona asked. ‘You sure?’  
‘Yes, over there. This is a stupid game.’  
‘I see it!,’ Webber said. ‘Now that you pointed it out.’  
The sky was riddled with stars, making a white stripe overhead. Maxwell pretended to squint at them. ‘I’m not sure if I see any stars.’  
Webber giggled. ‘Over there.’ He pointed up.  
‘Ah! Yes, now I see one too.’  
Twigs broke and a figure came running out of the forest.  
Webber sat up. ‘Wurt?’  
‘She’s bleeding,’ Wendy said, as the other girl made it to the firelight.  
‘Run!’ Wurt breathed, drawing air like it hurt. ‘Please!’ She tore at Maxwell’s arm to get him up. ‘They come!’  
They were all standing when the first of the merms made it through the forest.  
A whine from the catapult sent a rock flying into its face.  
Another merm took its place, then another.

The little group made it into the fortified sleeping area, slamming double doors shut behind them. The catapults were doing their best, but soon the attack reached their walls.  
The night smelled of fish and their gurgling screams pushed through to them.  
‘Well,’ Winona said, ‘definitely should have built more catapults.’  
Webber looked round at the sounds of attack. ‘What’s happening. Wurt?’  
Wurt made herself very small by the fire. ‘The king wants to eat you! He wants your heads on spikes. The beast of the desert told on you, it said that your warriors were gone.’ She shook her head, tears in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t. I had to warn you.’  
Maxwell placed a hand on her shoulder.  
‘They would have gotten us,’ Wendy said. ‘But we’re safe now.’  
A stone broke loose from the wall, flying into the fire and sending out sparks.  
Wendy kicked the embers out underneath the shoes. ‘Safe!’  
She glared at Winona. ‘Winona, we’re safe here, aren’t we?’  
A breaking sound echoed up from not so far away.  
‘That was a catapult,’ Winona said. She rubbed her face. ‘Uhm, do we have any stones here?’  
‘I have a few,’ Webber said. ‘I have five stones.’  
The others remained silent.  
The woman nodded. ‘Right. So repairing the walls on the go isn’t an option. It’s good to know what you can’t do, to get to what can be done.’  
‘They’re going to kill us!’ Wendy held herself, turning away. ‘Abigail, this isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t happening.’  
Maxwell watched the walls, ready to slash at the first thing that showed itself.  
A green claw broke through the stone. He cut it, making the creature howl.  
Instead of retreating it doubled its efforts, making the hole bigger .  
Wendy screamed, pointing at a crack in the fortification close to her. ‘They’re getting in!’  
Cracks appeared everywhere around them.  
Maxwell slashed another arm, it fell off this time.  
Winona took a step back, almost into the fire. ‘We’re surrounded.’ Then she got to work with her spear. It seemed pointless, there were too many cracks forming. Too many merms with tough hides and strong arms.  
Webber made his own head spin from looking at the breaking facade. He swallowed. ‘We can’t get out if they’re everywhere.’  
Wurt stood. ‘The redheaded one, does she hunt beefalo?’  
He nodded. ‘She hunts everything, keeps her trophies by her sleeping mat.’  
Wurt rummaged through the chest. She held up a horn.  
She shuddered. ‘When they come, we find a way out,’ she said.  
Winona held out her hand. ‘Wait-’  
Wurt blew the bone-like horn, making a strange, tortured sound. She blew on it again.  
Eyes wide, Wendy knelt to touch the ground. ‘Listen. Can you feel that?’  
Everyone took a moment to pay attention. Apart from the gurgles and shouts, there was a rumbling sound that could be felt in the earth.  
Webber slapped his own head. ‘Another earthquake!’  
Winona pointed at the shape emerging through the dark: A full grown beefalo male reared up in the firelight. It brought its full weight down on the wall.  
More of them came running, trampling merms and structures alike.  
But the merms were tough. They fought back, punching and biting.  
The wall caved in and the green monsters swarmed inside. Only to be squashed by hooves.  
Now the sleeping quarters were an open space. The group dodged the incoming attacks in the chaos, staying close together.  
One of the beefalo ran across the fire, setting its woolly coat ablaze. It panicked, bellowing in pain, spreading the fire while it trampled whatever came into its path.  
Maxwell and Winona grabbed the kids between them, and fled.

‘Where do we run to!’ Maxwell shouted while the night ignited around them. The hot air eagerly took the fire of the burning base. Trees smoldered, then caught flame. Merms burned and died, beefalo too. But there were plenty left that followed them. Murderous and vengeful.  
Winona closed her eyes for a second, then she knew. ‘There is a hill! We need to get to high ground. There’s safety there. N-nobody can go there, I think. It’s not far!’ 

The mood on the new stone field was not a great one. There were hardly any boulders left. They’d gotten what they came for. Then Wilson had set up a campsite and things had gone downhill from there.  
Yes, he was planning to stay the night. All according to plan.  
They were tired. It was not a good idea to travel through the dark. He also wanted to make a point.  
Wigfrid hadn’t eaten, which never happened. She sat at their little fire, staring off into space. Occasionally she fidgeted, making it clear how uncomfortable she was.  
Wilson sighed. She’d come around when they made it back in the morning. When she saw that everything was fine.  
Then Wes looked up at something and he stood. A strange emotion crossed his face, then he started walking, heading back home.  
Wilson turned to see him go. ‘Excuse me, Wes?’  
‘You can rest!’ Wigfrid said, tripping over herself to catch up with the mime. ‘We’re being silly and have to go home.’  
‘We ARE going home,’ Wilson said, ‘via the machine when we build it.’ He was talking to himself, they’d left.  
‘Come on,’ he said. He took out a piece of meat and cooked it on the flames. Wilson, sitting alone underneath the stars. Just like old times.  
He went to pet Chester and found that he was gone. ‘What!’ Not you too!  
Wilson closed his eyes. There they went, all three of them already in the desert. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. Then he made the mental adjustment to see further, all the way back to the base. 

Wes and Wigfrid spun round when they heard running footsteps.  
‘We have to go!’ Wilson shouted, waving his torch and climbing up the dune. ‘Oh God, it’s all going to hell!’ 

‘There it is!’ Winona pointed to a looming shape in the dark, even now it was oddly luminous. ‘Max!’  
Maxwell had stopped, putting Wurt and Webber down. Webber held a torch, lighting the jaws of a hound jumping out of the dark. Maxwell cut it down.  
Wendy gasped, struggling to get away. Winona put her down, her hand an iron shackle on her wrist. ‘Stay! Hold a light, we need our hands to fight!’  
Wendy struggled to get a torch out of her inventory, her shaking arms made the hound filled shadows dance.  
The beasts circled them, driving them into a huddle. And their enemies had made it too. A burning beefalo thundered past, driving the snapping maws away. It went up the hill and onwards.  
They followed, pursued by hounds.  
The merms stopped.  
Wurt was struggling to speak through fear-locked jaws. ‘We can’t! This place is cursed! It’s unnatural! It’s cursed!’  
Maxwell cut down another hound.  
Winona stabbed one in the throat with her spear, then the ribs and into the heart. It fell to the ground jerking and groaning.  
The dark trees shimmered around them in unfamiliar shapes and the wind picked up.  
They’d made it to the beefalo, where it had finally succumbed to the flames. It burned blue and yellow, stinking of burnt hair and melting fat. The flesh fell off its bones, a corpse candle lighting the night.  
Wendy fell to her knees beside it. ‘Please! Not like this! Please!’  
Wurt and Webber sank down by her side, eyes wide, watching their two guardians fight for their lives. 

Standing back to back, Winona shouted. ‘Merms didn’t follow! The hill is safe!’  
Maxwell beheaded another creature. ‘We might make it!’  
There had been many hounds, now their corpses littered the ground. Slowly, the sky brightened above.  
A fang filled mouth lunged for Winona, she thrust her spear into it. The hound bit down, then choked on its own blood.  
The last hound died by Maxwell’s sword, then the work was done.  
The two of them looked at eachother, exchanging a sheepish grin and a shrug. We’re alive. We made it. We endured!  
Then they went back to the children.  
It was getting so close to morning they could see the individual trees, the strange, grainy blades of grass.  
Webber jumped up, hugging them both. ‘We did it!’  
Even Wendy made it up and towards them. Only Wurt stayed where she was, rocking back and forth.  
Then a sound made them all stop.  
Something was moving behind them, the sounds of tearing flesh cut the fresh morning air.  
One of the hound corpses jerked itself around, faster and faster.  
Winona’s upper lip curled back but she couldn’t speak.  
‘It’s evil,’ Maxwell heard himself say, a hand pressed against his chest.  
Then the dead thing split open through the middle, and with a sucking sound, turned itself inside out. It broke its own bones in the proces, sharp shards becoming teeth. A mouth as long as its body writhed and snapped at them.  
Why aren’t we running, Maxwell thought, eyes wide and staring. Why do we stand and look? Every hair on Webber’s body stood on end, clinging to his leg.  
Wendy screamed and that snapped them out of it.  
Maxwell yanked Wurt to her feet and they ran.  
First up, past the trees, away from the thing. Then down the hill.  
Not at all far behind them a howl went up, broken and wrong. None of them would ever be able to unhear it.  
Wendy covered her ears and shrieked.  
And below the hill, the merms were waiting for them. 

Wilson groaned in pain when he saw the base. Everything had been destroyed, excluding the chests. By a cruel turn of fate the resources they had hoarded were untouched. He stumbled through the remains, past Wes who stood there looking lost. Everything had been trampled and turned to ashes.  
Strewn throughout the base lay pieces of monster, of singed beefalo fur. What had happened here? In one day.  
Wigfrid grunted while she pushed away pieces of wall. Searching the rubble for survivors. Wilson picked up a med kit, unused and left behind. Then slapped himself across the cheek. He checked the map.  
‘They’re alive! They’re not here! They’re on-’ He paled, making the grey ashes on his face stand out black. ‘On the hill.’  
Without a word they ran for it, through the ruined landscape. 

Webber curled in on himself. He clung to Wurt. Winona fell down beside them, getting back up and falling down. Her arm wouldn’t support her. Where the undead hound had bitten her, the skin blackened and bled.  
Wendy was shouting, out of her mind. She shouted at the merms, who threw rocks at them from below. They leered back at her, laughing.  
The horror hound would not die. Maxwell kept hacking it down, standing between them and it.  
Wendy shivered with her entire body. The injustice! The cruelty!  
They had to let them go!  
She walked down the hill.  
Winona reached after her with her arm jerking, the fingers curling back on themselves. She fell and didn’t get up.  
Webber opened his eyes. He saw Wendy raise her fist to one of the merms.  
It struck her down, snapping her neck. Her limp body fell into the grass and she was dead.  
His mouth opened in a silent scream.  
Then a light emerged from her lifeless body and the light screamed too. 

The merms stepped back as something began to slice through them. A screaming, floating shape, wrapped in sheets, not really there but hurting them enough to be real.  
Wendy sat up. She saw herself, her dead body, lying in the grass.  
I died. She touched her bloodless face, twisted away from the rest of her tiny body, and her hands went through. No.  
‘No!’ Someone echoed her voice.  
Wendy turned and saw a figure, with bare feet floating above the gras. Someone that could have been her size, if the body had not been twisted out of shape making it tall. The dirty sheets, covering the shape, were a mercy.  
The figure faced her, blood dripping down from those lifeless feet and ruined hands.  
Wendy’s mouth fell open in a groan. She recognized that face, the features pressing against the cloth in a death mask. It was her own.  
She choked on the word. ‘Abigail?’  
The figure started towards her and Wendy threw out her hands. ‘No!’  
It stopped.  
‘Kill them!’ Wendy bunched her fists, the rage coming back to her. ‘Kill them, Abigail! They have to die!’  
Her sister, her twin, obliged; sending merm limbs flying, creating fountains of blood where she tore heads from shoulders.  
Before trying to fight it, the merms fled where they could. 

Maxwell lodged the sword back into the hound, collapsing into it as it pushed him down to the ground. Covering him, white eyes rolling back, it finally stayed still.  
He shuddered.  
Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms. But they couldn’t get him out from under the creature.  
Webber pressed his forehead against his face. ‘Don’t die! You killed it! You won!’  
Maxwell tried to shrug, but his body wasn’t responding. He breathed out and closed his eyes.  
‘No!’  
Two stronger pairs of hands lifted the dead burden away.

Wilson pressed down on the wounds pooling over Maxwell’s body, soaking his suit dark. So much damage.  
Wigfrid yelled something but he couldn’t look away from the bruised and tired face.  
‘Use your med kit!’ He yelled back. He blinked, getting out the bright red syringe and stabbing it into Maxwe’ll neck.  
‘We’re here now,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘You’ll be fine.’  
‘Her arm is dying!’  
Wilson gritted his teeth, glancing back.  
Wigfrid sat cradling Winona in her lap. The arm. Oh God.  
‘Don’t let the black reach her face! T-tie it off! Then give her the medicine there! Give her all of them!’  
When he looked back Maxwell’s wounds were healing, there was definitely less blood flow to the outside happening. He let out a breath. 

Wigfrid ripped Winona’s shirt, making a tourniquet around her shoulder.  
‘Bind it tight!’ Wilson yelled.  
She did so, then fumbled with the syringe.  
Wilson was there, jabbing the needle in what was left of that tarnished arm. Another one. 

Wurt wiped her mouth with her sleeve, stumbling on, dry heaving because there was nothing left to throw up. She kept seeing familiar faces, lying detached from their bodies in the reddened grass. The air stank with offal and smoke. Dead. They’re all dead. I warned the group and now everyone is dead.  
Not everyone.  
A looming figure came walking up to her through the smoke. There was something off about its gait. The merm was counterbalancing for the lack of a second arm.  
Glup hissed at her, fresh burns on his face tearing open around his mouth.  
Wurt cowered, unable to move.  
He grabbed her. 

Webber stumbled through the carnage, no longer paying attention to what he was stepping on. But he wasn’t fast enough.  
The big merm had taken Wurt away into the veiling smoke, retreating with the others.  
He looked back at the hill. Wilson and Wigfrid were busy saving the others. He swallowed, tasting bile on his tongue.  
‘Wendy!’  
She floated over to him.  
‘Wendy they took Wurt! We have to save her! They’ll hurt her!’  
The ghost girl smiled down at him. Then she turned to the distant figure on a killing spree.  
‘Abigail!’ 

Wilson let out another breath. It was working. The darkness seeped out of Winona’s arm, pouring from the wound and leaving her own skin color behind.  
Then her arm stopped bleeding.  
A shudder went through her body and the darkness began to spread again.  
He cursed, loosening the makeshift tourniquet. ‘Why isn’t it bleeding out?’  
Wes knelt by their side. He took Winona’s hand in his, then slashed his knife across her arm up to the crook of her elbow.  
A curtain of black poured out from the wound, turning red.  
Wilson jabbed the arm with another syringe and held it until the wound closed. The body had healed too fast.  
Wigfrid repositions her head against Winona’s. ‘It’s Maxwell.’  
The magician had sat up.  
‘Okay, good.’ Wilson said.  
Then the man groaned, clutching at his stomach. Beside him, the dead body of the hound started to move again.  
Wilson jumped up. ‘Everyone off the hill!’ He helped Wigfrid with Winona, while Wes carried Maxwell.  
They barely made it down, when the creature started after them. As soon as they’d left the strange grass it stopped, as if it no longer saw them.  
Maxwell fell onto his knees and threw up blood. He groaned in pain, more blood bubbled up from his mouth.  
Wilson forced him onto his back, holding his face steady with his hands. He opened and closed his mouth. He couldn’t think.  
Maxwell let out a scream, his body going into convulsions.  
‘Stop it!’ Wilson shook him, tears in his eyes and squeezing them shut. ‘What’s wrong?’  
Wes took a hold of Wilson’s shoulder, and with kindness in his eyes, eased him to the side. Then he plunged his knife into Maxwell’s stomach. 

On her throne in the dark, Charlie winched at the sound of Maxwell being awake and stabbed. Wilson was not taking it well. So much suffering and shouting. She held up her hand and a present dropped into it from a shadow arm above it. She gave it a little kiss, then sent it out into the world. 

Wigfrid stared. A bright red package had dropped into her lap. Something compelled her to open it. Oh.  
She eased Winona to the side.  
Wilson screamed, maybe to block out Maxwell but it wasn’t working. He held Maxwell down while Wes took the pieces of bone and fangs out of his body.  
The pieces were still trying to eat him, moving on their own.  
Maxwell was pleading now. Wilson rocked back and forth, still holding him down, promising things.  
She pushed the needle into Maxwell’s arm, releasing the dark liquid.  
Maxwell froze, then his eyes finally shut as his body gave in to sleep.  
Wes took out several more enemy bits. Much easier now that the body wasn’t trying to fight him as well. He jabbed the wounds with a med kit syringe, watching them heal underneath the torn clothes.  
Wigfrid, turning away from the dead around them, tried to find her voice. ‘Where did the children go?’  
Wilson swayed, steadying himself to not fall over Maxwell. His voice cracked. ‘I’ll get them. They’re in the swamp.’  
Wigfrid sat down again, blinking fast. She didn’t notice him leave, time went by weird.  
She did notice the music. Someone was playing a violin. It sounded close by.  
Wes got up and went to it. He danced to it, still covered in blood.  
A dark doorway appeared between the burnt trees.  
Wigfrid rubbed her eyes. It was still there, opening up to let Wes in.  
She held out her arm. ‘Wes!’ But he was gone and so was the door.  
Alone, she huddled close to Winona and Maxwell, pulling up her knees. Sitting between the fallen enemies, she glanced at the ash filled sky. There was nothing glorious about this battlefield at all.

Wurt kicked and screamed while her brother wrapped her in a seaweed blanket. He lifted and beat her down onto the table a few times.  
That shut her up.  
She bit his thumb, he slapped her.  
‘You no hurt me!’ He shouted. ‘You suffer!’ He smacked her again.  
The ones that were left crowded in around them. ‘You traitor!’ They hissed. ‘You evil!’ ‘Traitor!’ ‘Evil!’  
Wurt, her head spinning, closed her eyes against the salt they mashed her body into.  
She opened them again when they lifted her above them, carrying her towards the enclosure of the king.  
The fire had reached the swamp, the dead trees were already burning. But there would be time for an execution.  
The king screamed about the fire and this made them drop her. When they picked her back up the king clapped his hands. He wriggled his feelers.  
Wurt frowned. Why did I betray him? She stopped struggling her binds, letting herself be held by his majesty. It was His Right after all, to do with his subjects as He pleased.  
He licked her cheek, smacking his lips at the taste. Then he dangled her over his mouth.  
She looked at the faces of the crowd. At Glup. This was just.  
Then the enclosure splintered and the carnage began anew.  
Someone yelled her name and Wurt snapped out of her trance. She screamed while she fell into the Royal mouth and down into His throat. 

Wendy, her eyes wide, went in front. ‘Stay behind my sister! She’ll have a path clear in no time.’  
Webber gasped as he burned his hand on a smoldering barrel. ‘Where is she?’  
Abigail demolished the last obstacle in their way, and they had a clear view of the King.  
He saw her, dangling in the air over an impossible mouth. ‘Wurt!’  
Then the king ate her.  
The barrel exploded, sending boiled fish everywhere. He ran.  
Where Abigail went merms died. She did clear a path, until Webber stood face to face with the King of the swamp.  
The king turned his head to look down at him. Then he patted his meaty belly, wafting a thick fish smell over him.  
Webber held out the shadow sword. It had hurt to pick up, from where Maxwell had put it down. It hurt him now. The corners of all his eyes turned red and the colors sprang up in contrast.  
His hands shook. She can hold her breath. She’s alive. Just cut him up.  
The king laughed.  
Webber groaned. Cut him up! Maxwell does it at all the time.  
The swords dropped from his hands, unable to hold it any longer. And the world went back to normal, taking away the terrible pressure on his mind. He swayed. I’m too weak.  
‘Squash!’ the king yelled. ‘Want eat spider!’  
Webber turned to see a one-armed merm towering over him. Then a spear went through its chest from behind.  
Wilson stepped into view from behind it, casting the dead creature aside.  
Webber fell to his knees. ‘He ate Wurt! She saved us! Please! She’s alive!’  
His father picked up the nightmarish sword. Behind him, what was left of the enclosure smoldered and caught flame. The village was burning around them.  
The King wiggled his feelers, but Wilson stuck the sword into his throat, cutting down and to the side.  
This released a wave of hot slime and fish and entrails. Wilson stood against the flood while the King spasmed and died. Then he picked out a small shape from between the mess.

He wiped the slime off Wurt’s face. She retched and blinked at him, the flames dancing in her eyes. They stood there in silence for a moment.  
Then Wilson took her away from the corpse, carrying her through the dying village.  
Wendy floated over to them while they walked back across the swamp.  
When Wilson looked at her he put Wurt down. He shook his head.  
The ghost girl shrugged. ‘I guess I died after all.’  
‘Wendy...’  
‘You knew, right? That I jumped on purpose.’  
He nodded, a searing pain in his throat.  
She looked at them, the three of them. She pressed her chin to her chest. ‘All this time, I just wanted to die…’ She laughed. ‘Turns out, I don’t want to be dead!’  
The girls tapped her fingertips to her eyelids. ‘I can’t even cry now. I wanted to do a lot more crying!’ She laughed again and it sounded strangled. ‘This is my sister,’ she moved to the side and they recoiled. The presence was not like Wendy. It was a horror.  
Wendy moved so that they couldn’t fully see her.  
‘She died when I was alive,’ she said.  
‘You talked to her a lot,’ Webber said.  
The girl waved her hand. ‘I was pretending. This...’ she glanced back. ‘I wanted to avenge her. Find out what happened to her.’  
Abigail moved and Wendy jumped. ‘She wants me to follow her.’ She wrung her hands against her heart. ‘I guess it’s time.’  
She went after Abigail.  
Wilson set out after her towards what was left of the forest. ‘Wait! There’s ways to get you back! There has to be. When Winona wakes up we’ll think of something!’  
Abigail wailed, and the sound stopped him dead between the black trees.  
Wendy sighed. ‘I finally have her back. Or she had me. I can’t.’  
Abigail wailed again, sending Wilson to his knees.  
Wendy ran.  
She flew through the trees to what was left of her sister. Abigail had never left.  
I’m sorry I took so long.  
She flew into the waiting arms, unafraid now. Then lighting struck and she landed onto a hard, broken surface.  
Wendy stared at her hands. Real and new. Alive!  
‘Wh-’ This was the creepy platform, ruined now. It had brought her back to life.  
Warm arms lifted her up and Wilson held onto her.  
Webber ran up too. They hugged, the three of them. Then Wendy detached herself.  
‘I’m going to be better,’ she said with an actual voice. ‘I won’t be a shit.’  
Wilson sucked in a breath, Webber laughed. 

They went back to what was left of their base. To the chests and one tree, and the boulder.  
Wilson cried out when he saw the others. Winona and Wigfrid carried Maxwell between them on an improvised stretcher.  
‘He’s sleeping,’ Winona said, surprised by a hug from Wilson.  
Wigfrid shook her head. ‘Wes is gone. He walked through a strange door.’  
Kneeling by Maxwell’s side, Wilson shook his head. ‘Wes has more sense than I. He'll find his way back.’  
He placed a hand on Maxwell’s cheek.  
Then he stood.  
He looked at the battered faces, the tired shoulders. ‘I made a mistake,’ he said.  
Wigfrid opened her mouth but he held up his hand.  
‘There’s no use for a portal home when there is no one left to use it.’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t know everything. Half of us almost died today. One did.’ He shook his head. ‘From now on we vote on things.’  
‘No more kings.’  
They looked at Wurt, who made herself small.  
‘No more kings,’ Wilson repeated.  
Wigfrid sighed. ‘We should find food.’  
That moment the sun broke through the dark sky, reflecting on the burnt trees and glittering in the ashes.  
‘Looks like a hot day,’ Winona said.  
Wilson rubbed his head. ‘It’s going to take a while before things regrow.’  
‘Why don’t you go down?’ Wurt walked up to the boulder. ‘Take shelter in the caves.’  
A blank stare from Wilson made her look around. ‘Can someone break it?’  
Wigfrid took out her pickaxe and with a few smacks, the stone crumbled, revealing stairs.  
Wilson’s mouth dropped open. He held out his arms to the entryway, bending through his knees. ‘That’s been there this whole time!’ The scientist coughed. ‘Who wants to go down there and take shelter from the heat?  
All hands went up.  
‘It’s decided then.’  
Webber found some of his old bounce. ‘I want to go first!’  
‘I’ll race you for it,’ Wendy said.  
Winona held up an unlit flair. ‘I am going first.’ 

Wilson took one side of the stretcher, Wigfrid the other.  
‘I have questions,’ Wigfrid said.  
Wilson looked her in the eyes and smiled. ‘We can make a new fire and have a question hour, something like that. Does that sound good?’  
She nodded, and together they carried Maxwell into the dark, leaving the old base behind.


	18. Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!  
> This is the start to a final stretch of chapters that will conclude this story.   
> Critique always welcome, or to point out mistakes that bother you. 
> 
> Let's ease into it. <3

The underground stone field was aglow with the eerie silver shine of the lightbulb plants.  
Webber stood on a crumpled, Elegant Buttoned Shirt, with a stick in hand. Throughout the field, a trail of discarded clothing marked a large circle.  
Wendy held a rock in her fist, tip of her tongue out and one eye closed.  
Next to her elbow, Wurt rubbed her head. ‘Weren’t we supposed to not play this game anymore?,’ the merm asked.  
Wendy shook her head. ‘That was Rocks. This game is called “Sticks.”  
‘It’s okay, Wurt!’ Webber called over to them. ‘Wendy, throw it! I got this!’  
Wendy threw the rock at Webber, he swung the stick but missed.  
‘Again!’ he yelled and jumped on the spot  
Wendy took another stone from her inventory. ‘Ready?’  
‘I got it! Got it!’  
She flung the stone.  
Webber hit the projectile, sending it up towards the darkness of the ceiling.  
Then it came back down.  
Wendy and Wurt ran around, trying to predict where the rock would land.  
Webber had started his run around the field. He ran from base to to base, dodging the flowers back to where he’d started.  
‘Catch it!,’ Wendy yelled, ‘he’s already at the Classy Tweed Waistcoat!’  
Wurt covered her head and froze, the stone landed next to her.  
Wendy caught it mid-bounce. ‘Rock!’ she yelled, then threw the stone towards Webber.  
He dodged it, laughing while he almost fell. ‘Rock, rock!,’ he yelled. He kept running.  
Wendy started towards him. ‘Rock, rock, rock!!’  
Wurt held her arm and frowned. Following Wendy in a half jog, she hoped the game would end soon.

Webber collapsed onto the shirt where he’d started. Wendy fell on top of him and they yelled in unison. Eacht fought to be first to get all the words out.  
“Rock, rock-rock-rock-rock! Rock!”  
Wendy pointed her finger. ‘You missed one!’  
He shook his yeah, kicking the ground. ‘No, YOU missed a rock! It’s supposed to go back up to five when you hit last base!’  
Wurt swallowed. ‘Guys? Can we go now?’ They didn’t notice her. ‘We’ve been out here forever.’  
The two argued on, then decided on another round. 

This time it was Wendy’s time to hold the stick.  
Webber cast his stone, and she hit it on her third try. The rock flew up high and came back down, right onto Wurt’s head.  
The merm stood there while her ears rang.  
Wendy dropped the stick. ‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to!’  
Wurt forced a smile, eyes closed. ‘I’m going back,’ she said. ‘Kinda tired.’ Then she ran.  
Webber tried to catch up but she was faster. ‘Wurt, wait!’ The slight form kept going, and left him standing between the glow plants.  
When he came back, Wendy rubbed her arm. ‘Maybe our games are dangerous?,’ she said.  
Webber picked up the stick she’d dropped. ‘Want to throw the stone slower so that we can practice?’  
She looked away, then shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s safer when we’re better at it.’

Winona looked up from the fire, snapping out of her thoughts. Wurt had walked into their new base. The merm slumped down in her own corner, her head to her knees.  
They’d built a walled off area underneath the stairs that led up to the surface. Everyone had a sleeping mat, and a chest to themselves. The central firepit emitted enough light to make it safe.  
Winona was on Maxwell duty, guarding the prone figure laying by the fire.  
After a while, Winona sighed. ‘Are they playing that game again?’  
Wurt rolled her forehead on her knees. ‘Did he wake up?’  
Winona shook her head. ‘Come over and see. Still the same. It’s warmer here.’  
‘I don’t mind the cold,’ Wurt said. She got up and came to sit down by the sleeping man’s side.  
Winona rubbed her brow. ‘You can tell them when they’re playing too rough, you know. It’s no fun when somebody can get hurt.’  
Their eyes fell on Maxwell and no-one spoke for a while.  
Wurt leaned back, looking Winona in the eyes. ‘I can sit with him for a while,’ she said. ‘You’ve been here all day.’  
Winona studied her for a moment, then nodded. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’

Winona went to check on the drying racks. All of them were full. Maybe she should add a few to preserve food. It was a shame to let it go to waste. She hadn’t gotten around to making a new icebox.  
A stack of meat dropped next to her. Wigfrid took off her helmet, wiping her face in the torchlight. ‘Bats,’ she said, her voice echoing around them. ‘They’re a hassle. But their wings are very tasty.’ Then her expression changed. ‘Did he wake up?’  
Winona’s smile faded. ‘Not yet.’  
The warrior sighed. ‘I think the children are playing their game again. They hid the stones, but I saw them holding the stick.’ She placed her hands on her hips. ‘When I called them to come to base they run and giggle. Little nuisances.’  
Winona placed a hand on Wigfrid’s shoulder, making her blink.  
‘They’re just acting out.’  
‘You stay calm,’ Wigfrid said, looking away. ‘Maybe they’ll listen to you. My shouting attracts the bats.’  
Wigfrid wrung her hands, her eyes serious. ‘We need him to wake up.’  
Winona opened her mouth to speak, but they heard footsteps coming closer.  
Chester barked at them in greeting. After a while, Wilson caught up to his dog.  
Winona put on a bright smile, forcing the concern out of her voice. ‘Hey, Wilson.’  
He stared at them, then nodded. His eyes kept wandering back to the camp, and the glow of the fire.  
Wigfrid’s smile was less convincing. The strain showed around her eyes. ‘Did your walk go well?’  
The scientist rubbed his hands across his face, clearing his throat. His voice came out weak and had to work to make it heard.  
‘Yes, I… found, I found some supplies. For the... the machine.’ His hand went to his throat, then dropped at his side. He sighed. ‘Chester has them.’  
Winona’s voice was warm and sure of itself. ‘That’s great. Could you take over from Wurt? She’s been on guarding duty for a while now.’  
Without saying another word, Wilson went back to base.  
The woman looked at each other in silence, then followed. 

Wilson sat down by the fire, shoulders sagging and head bowed. He looked small, sitting there, casting a long shadow.  
Wurt, her elbows tucked into her sides, tried to say something. But ended up sitting there. He didn’t seem to notice her.  
When she saw Wigfrid and Winona enter the base, she stood, going back to her corner.  
Winona clapped her hands, startling Wilson.  
While she had his attention, she forced a piece of dried meat on him, waiting until he ate it.  
‘I’m going to camp out with the children,’ she said. ‘We’ll be back by morning.’  
Wilson nodded, staring through her.  
Wigfrid’s eyes widened, looking from Winona to Wilson.  
Winona held up her hands, waving for Wurt to go with her. ‘I’m going to get them back,’ she said under her breath. ‘Calmly.’  
Wigfrid rolled her shoulders, taking her spear in her hands. She took up a position by the entrance, watching Winona and Wurt walk away with a sigh.

Wurt kept looking back to the base at Wilson. She tripped, but Winona caught her hand before she fell.  
‘Careful now,’ the woman said. ‘Better think of something fun. Camping is a fun activity.’  
Wurt waited for her hand to be returned, but it didn’t happen.  
Winona led her to the lightbulb field, to a set of boulders that made a background against the darkness.  
When the woman made a campfire between the bulbs, humming a tune, Wurt held out her hands. There was an accusation in her voice.  
‘Why are you so happy?’  
To her surprise, Winona smiled. ‘Oh, I’m worried alright. Just doesn’t pay to show it right now. We keep on going on. We’ll get through this.’  
Wurt tensed up, fists trembling at her sides. Then her voice broke and tears sprang into her eyes. ‘It’s MY fault!’  
Winona held two sticks in her hands, studying them. When the lightbulb plants faded, she threw one of them on the flames. ‘That so?’  
A face popped up from behind the boulders and Wendy’s voice called down. ‘Wurt! That’s ridiculous!’  
The girl slid down, joining them in the fire's glow. Now that the field grew dark around them, it closed them in together.  
Wurt shook her head. ‘I should have seen it coming, somehow. If I warned you earlier, you could have caught up with the others. Not go onto the…’ She shivered. ‘That hill.’  
Wendy shook her head. ‘You saved us by warning us, that’s final. Besides, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have run off.’ The girl bit her lip and looked away.  
‘If I had stayed in the camp, like I was supposed to. Then he wouldn’t have fought the hounds. Then he would have been stronger when fighting that monster.’  
‘You’re both wrong!’ Webber climbed onto the boulder and slid down too. ‘It’s MY fault.’ He hit himself on the chest. ‘If I had been strong, I could have fought the monster too!’ He wrapped his arms around his head. ‘I stab -stab it in the back with the dark sword- and then Maxwell will chop its head off! Then it would have been killed dead for sure.’  
Winona cleared her throat, making them jump. ‘What about me? If I had built a million catapults, then maybe we could have stayed in the base.’  
Wendy shook her head. ‘You can’t build that many. There aren’t enough trees in the world.’  
Winona sat down by the fire. They followed her example, without noticing.  
‘Wigfrid blames herself,’ Winona said, her voice gentle. She looked up. ‘We’re all guilty.’  
They nodded, their faces sad and silent.  
She shook her head. ‘We’re guilty of being a group and caring about each other. Things go wrong sometimes. People you care about can get hurt. It’s a chain of events that we all took part in. Because we’re a team. But it’s not your fault that Maxwell isn’t waking up. Or that Wilson is… that he can’t focus anymore.’ She sighed. ‘We all did the best we were capable of.’  
Wendy folded her arms. ‘I didn’t, I was a shit.’  
‘Language.’ Winona put a piece of fruit on the end of the stick, handing it over to Wurt.  
‘Hold it over the flames,’ she said. ‘We’re camping. That’s what you do when you go camping.’  
Webber rocked back and forth. There was a bump on the side of his face. ‘What if he never wakes up again?’  
‘He will,’ Winona said, handing a stick with food on the end to Wendy.  
The girl stuck out her chin. There was a scratch on it. ‘How do you know that?’  
Winona let out a breath. ‘Things have been getting clearer to me,’ she said. ‘I can see that I’m not only a woman.’  
They stared at her.  
‘I used to be a big sister,’ she went on, making a stick with meat on it for Webber.  
‘And when we were little, I always took the blame. Even when it wasn’t my fault at all. I was responsible.’  
Wendy held onto herself, her mouth a thin line.  
Webber frowned. ‘Just because you were the oldest?’  
The woman handed him his stick. ‘That’s right. You don’t get away with anything when you’re the oldest. So I was mean too, sometimes. We fought a lot, me and my sister. But we loved each other.’  
‘Of course you did,’ Wendy mumbled. She blinked too fast.  
Winona nudged her. ‘Turn your stick, Wendy. Don’t let it burn on that side.’  
Then she sighed. ‘My sister was pretty, and she was fun. People always liked her for that. Having fun and living life, that’s what mattered to her.’  
She pulled up her knees. ‘I was jealous. I was always the responsible one. The boring one. When we got older, I thought I was done with being responsible for her.’ Her voice faltered, but she pressed on.  
‘She got into trouble a lot, and I was still always there to bail her out. Lend her money… She forgot me the moment she’d gotten what she wanted.’ The fire gleamed in her dark eyes, the children hung onto her words.  
Winona raised her hand. ‘Then one day she took it too far. One of her antics again. But this time she’d seriously hurt other people.’  
Winona balled her fists, her jaw tensing up. ‘And she wouldn’t even see it. So I called her out on it. “You’re not the only one that matters.” “You’re selfish.” We got in a terrible fight. We both said horrible things to each other.’  
Winona swallowed. ‘I yelled at her, that I never wanted to see her again. She took it with a smile, but I saw it hurt her. Good, because I meant it.’  
Winona sat back. ‘And we never saw each other. For years. No birthday visits or holiday trips. She lived her life, and I lived mine. Until she needed me again.’  
A moment of silence passed over them, the darkness around them loomed.  
‘She called me,’ Winona said, her chin trembled. ‘She sounded so scared.’ Her brow knitted. ‘And I ran to come get her, everything forgotten.’  
Wendy nodded.  
With a grimace, Winona poked the fire. ‘I was too late. I never found her. She’d just... disappeared. And it haunted me. Was this my fault? She’d gotten herself into another dangerous situation. Should I have chained her down, forced her to live a safer life? Impossible...’  
Wendy leaned in, hands tensed. ‘What happened to her? You never found out?’  
Winona took the flaming twig from the child. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked up at the darkness of the ceiling. ‘I kept searching for her. Throughout the years I realized it wasn’t my fault, whatever had happened to her. But that I needed to find her for me. That I wanted to because I cared.’  
Now Webber leaned closer. ‘You said that Maxwell had something to do with it. When you uhm… ’  
“Maxwell,” Winona said. She shook her head, rubbing her temples. ‘I have no idea. It gets real fuzzy around those details. Some nights I can almost remember something important. Like, I remember I saw her. Right before coming here...’ She had to take a couple of breaths to calm herself. ‘This isn’t working. Put out your sticks. I brought some other food.’  
Webber tossed his, now torch, behind him.  
‘Wurt?’  
Wurt put hers down in the fire. ‘I don’t love my brothers,’ she said with a small voice. She swallowed. ‘But I never wanted them to die.’  
An uncomfortable silence fell over the little group. She hiccuped. ‘I still prefer that you are all alive. They were never kind. They hurt me a lot.’  
Webber placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘But they were your family.’ He smiled, then frowned. He let go and sat up.  
She nodded. ‘I don’t know what to feel or think.’  
Wendy shrugged. ‘Then don’t. You don’t have to know everything. I’m not sorry that Abby killed them. They were tearing us apart. They killed ME.’ She bit her lip. ‘I am sorry that you’re sad. I think you’re nice.’  
Wurt gave her a quiet smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  
Unbuckling her backpack, Winona looked up. ‘Why do you throw rocks at her, then?’  
Wendy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh wow, that’s only a game!’  
‘Look at your faces, it’s a stupid game.’  
‘We need to get good at it,’ Webber protested. ‘It’s good for us.’  
‘I don’t like it,’ Wurt said.  
Everyone looked at her, Winona with a smile.  
Wendy looked down at her. ‘What DO you like, then? You’re always so quiet.’  
The woman pointed. ‘You’re being rude again, Wendy.’  
Wendy gritted her teeth. ‘Sorry,’ elevating her voice, her face snooty. ‘What would you like us to pretend-play instead, Wurt? My dear friend.’  
Webber giggled.  
Wurt got in her face a little, smiling. ‘I’m bad at playing games. I never got to play, ever.’  
That made them quiet down.  
‘I grew up here,’ the merm said, her arms outstretched. ‘In this darkness. I didn’t see the light until I could walk. I helped them weave the coronation blanket for our king. But I think now, that it was all my work. I was always kinda different. And I always wanted to play. They knocked me down for it.’ She sat. ‘I like to sing.’  
Wendy fidgeted. ‘Can you?’  
Wurt stood, her webbed ears wriggled, and then she opened her mouth.  
A haunting tune came out. It sounded bigger than the little girl looked capable of. It had a sombre note to it that lingered in the air after she’d closed her mouth.  
Below the foundations of the caves, something stirred.  
‘That was beautiful,’ Webber said.  
Wendy nodded. ‘I like it.’  
‘See,’ Winona said. ‘There are different things you can do, besides lob rocks at each other.’  
Webber held out his hand for a plate of meatballs. ‘But how do you know Maxwell will wake up again?’  
‘I don’t,’ Winona said. ‘But we do have to stick together until we find out. Being hopeless solves nothing. It only makes things difficult.’  
‘He’s really strong,’ Wendy said. She took a plate of bacon and eggs. ‘He can fight anything. Maybe he needed a lot of sleep, to rest.’  
‘That’s the spirit,’ Winona said, giving Wurt a Butter Muffin.  
The merm nodded. ‘He’ll wake up. I believe in him. He fought the cursed undying and won.’  
Around them, the bulb’s light stage started again, the plants rose up to shine like a field of stars. 

Wilson felt hands placed on his shoulders and started awake. No. Maxwell still lay there. He shook himself. Don’t doze off like that.  
His eyebrows knitted, and he leaned forward, palms pressed against his eyes.  
The fire’s glow felt warm on his hands. Someone whispered in his ear.  
With gritted teeth, he rocked back and forth. ‘Why aren’t you waking up?’  
He tugged at his collar. ‘You can’t do this. Do you want your screams of agony to be the last thing I ever hear from you? Is that fair? That’s supposed to be how YOU left me.’  
He pressed a hand to his chest, as if to steady his own erratic heartbeat. A wave of dizziness washed over him.  
He groaned. ‘Please, wake up. You need to listen to me. You don’t even know who you are.’ He gestured to himself. ‘Who I am. I need to tell you that. It’s important.’  
Standing by the entrance, Wigfrid averted her eyes. But she needed to be here. In case Wilson needed her. She clenched her spear tight, her gaze on the perimeter.

The scientist shook his head, his eyes red and strained. ‘It’s funny, actually. You need to wake up and at least appreciate this situation. Even if you come back as the old bastard Maxwell. Just give me that.’ Give me a chance to hate you again.  
He swallowed, wiping a hand across his nose. ‘This isn’t working. It’s this place. We need to get him to a doctor. A proper doctor. Outside.’ He swooned, but someone grabbed his shoulder to steady him.  
‘The machine. Wigfrid, I can’t believe we haven’t finished it yet.’  
She looked up at him, her face pale and harried looking.  
He clasped her hands. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll find the what we need. I’ll pay attention now.’  
‘Maybe wait for Winona-’  
‘-Can you look over him? Please? I’ll be right back.’  
She nodded. There was no stopping Wilson when he needed to walk away. He’d come back as quick. ‘Of course.’  
And he was gone.  
Wigfrid let out a shaking breath. Then she sat down by the fire.  
She looked at the stricken man, and her chest tightened. She leaned in close to his ear. ‘Maxwell, you fight. Okay?’ She swallowed. One tiny sleeping potion can’t make you lie down forever. That’s not... What was his word? Dapper. ‘It’s not dapper,’ she whispered.  
It was strange what made people go down. A person could fall off a mountain and live, then someone hit their head on a doorframe wrong and they died.  
Look at me, she thought. I’m a wreck. I take my hands off my spear and they shake. My voice trembles.  
I’m afraid.  
Why?

Charlie sat on her throne and smiled. Everything was going well. Nothing was wrong. She wrapped up another gift and sent it out into the world. 

Wilson saw the red present drop into the corner of his eyes. He walked on. It didn’t contain what he needed. He could find those ingredients himself now. Lichens, salt… He picked up a shiny gold nugget and gave it to Chester.  
He’d reached the end of the platform when he needed to go back. The damp patches of land that reached up from the dark below didn’t go on forever. The void echoed his movements back at him from all around.  
What if he’s awake?  
A strange sound reached his ears, so sad that it made him gasp.  
This place was unnatural. More so than the upper world. He’d been a fool to take Maxwell down here with them.  
‘We need to set up a new base, away from the burnt bits. Make the machine, get out.’ Get help.  
He looked down over the edge. Such darkness.  
Wilson turned to go back. Then the world shook. One of the more recent earthquakes. Stones toppled down from the ceiling, shattering to pieces on the ground. He lost his balance.  
As he swung his arms, he thought; This isn’t happening. But backwards off the cliff’s edge he went.  
Come on!  
Wilson grabbed onto a branch, finding himself dangle over the abyss.  
When the earthquake stopped, he heard Chester whine above him.  
‘Go back to the base, Chester!’ He frowned. I sound like some lost boy, trapped underneath a barn or something. He breathed out slow.  
Another reminder of how much this world wanted him to suffer.  
Regardless of that: ‘Chester, get help! Be a good boy!’  
He tried to find a footing on the smooth wall of the cliff. Maybe if he pushed himself up?  
A light shone down from above, but if that faded to another dark cycle…  
‘Chester…’ his voice sounded weak. His hands shook with the strain.  
I’m so useless. I can’t help anybody, not even myself.  
A pressure leaned into his back, arms snaked around him that he couldn’t see. Stronger hands closed around his failing grip, they secured him.  
His eyelids drooped, and for a moment, the smell of a cigar drifted in the air. He opened them wide with a scream, scrabbling to hold on.  
An unseen hand caressed his cheek.  
Wilson leaned into the pain of his tired arms, sweat sliding down his temple and back. But his mind drifted to a pressure on his lips, fingertips trailing down his neckline. Eyelid heavy, he shook his head. Legs unable to grapple the sleek wall.  
Then the light above faded. Only a faint glow shone up from below him.  
Fine.  
He let go.  
Chester, on his way back to the base, stopped. Then he turned and jumped after Wilson.

Wilson landed in cold water. He went under, a gasp filled his lungs with liquid.  
He slammed into a rock, screaming it back out.  
But he didn’t feel it. The cold took away the pain. Numbing him within seconds.  
A fierce current tore him under, where weeds glowed and showed pointed rocks.  
He banged his shoulder underwater, coming back up for air in the dizzy half-light.  
I’m going to die.  
We didn’t find any new touch-stones. What will happen when I die?  
Wilson held onto a rock, teeth clattering, within the ripping water.  
The strong, invisible hands were back, holding him in place on the slick surface.  
You were so dumb for falling over the side; he heard himself think. You let them down. Nobody can be around you in the camp. They all flee. Useless. You’re of no use to anyone.  
Wilson pinched his eyes shut. It was true.  
He realised he’d let go and was thrown back in the rush of water. His arms flailed, then he went under.  
Someone hugged him tight. He almost didn’t make it back to the surface.  
He found another rock to cling to. Then a crevice, water pushing him into it. The current bubbled up to his chin. It pressed his head into the stone wall.  
Someone held him tight from behind, closing his eyes with a hand.  
Why do you struggle? They’re better off without you. You did enough. You’re weak. You’re tired.  
Tired. The word drained him.  
It was so cold.  
There’s no hope for you. Don’t you feel it? You can’t justify your existence at all. There’s nothing for you here.  
Nothing.  
You are nothing. The hand closed around his throat, it pulled him under.  
Let go.

Maxwell moved in his sleep.  
Wigfrid jumped. ‘Maxwell?’

Wilson drifted down through the faint, submerged glow. The current was slower here, the water deeper. He reached up for the surface, it wasn’t that far up. But he let his hand drift and closed his eyes. His body gave a little jerk as it ran out of air. 

Sharp jaws closed around his wrist and little feet kicked water.  
Chester surfaced with an exhale through his big nostrils. He dove back down, biting Wilson’s collar instead. He tore him towards a shoreline up ahead.  
There he dragged the limp body onto the dark sand, and started to yowl.  
Enemies came out of the darkness. Chester growled at them, barking as loud as his little body allowed.  
They closed in, long paws reaching for Wilson. He bit them, making them angry.  
A stranger came running out of the dark. “There’s someone there!,” they yelled. 

A skinny woman with dark hair waved to someone behind her.  
Her helmet had a light that shone on the scene before her. Monkeys. There were too many to count, their white eyes focused on the unconscious man on the sand.  
‘They’ll tear him apart!’  
From the shadows, a muscular man with a dark red beard gained on her.  
‘Light them up!’ he yelled. He threw a bright red axe towards the rocks.  
The girl squared her shoulders, and when the axe struck stone, she made the sparks explode.  
A ring of fire roared in the air, it expanded while she held her arms up.  
The man caught his axe with one hand on the rebound. He kept ran. Mumbling in excitement to the tool.  
The chittering crowd backed away from the flames, hatred in their eyes.  
Chester barked at the world and everyone in it. Fur raised and teeth flecked with foam.  
‘Easy there,’ the man said. ‘We’re here to help, ey?’  
The young woman yelled at him to hurry.  
The man held out his wrist to the dog. ‘Give that a sniff and tell me old Woodie ain’t yer friend.’  
Chester barked, sniffed, then stepped aside.  
Woodie lifted the stranger into his arms, carrying him bridal style off the beach.  
‘Keep it up, Willow. Only a little longer.’  
She nodded, shielding them in flames. All around them the monkeys jumped and screeched.  
She couldn’t help but stare at the figure they were rescuing, how the fire glistened on his skin.  
Woodie nodded at her. ‘Ready for a big push and run?’  
She nodded. ‘You know it, always am.’  
Then Willow threw her arms down and up, while Woodie started to run.  
She bathed the monkeys in fire, throwing them back with a wave of fire.  
Then ran for it.  
Alight and enraged, their enemies followed. Some of them fell down to die but others driven on by pure rage.  
Yet the two of them were beyond their reach. They’d climbed a big Beefalo, thundering away while the flames died down.

Willow sat at the back of the huge saddle that mounted the animal. She held onto the stranger. Listening for the hated sounds to die down behind them.  
When things had quieted, and they’d slowed, she took another look at the person they’d saved.  
‘He’s beautiful,’ she said. Then blushed.  
Woodie, up front with the reins in his hands, looked back. ‘That he is!’  
She touched a hand to his forehead. ‘And so cold. We need to get him to a fire.’  
‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘You got the reeds?’  
She stared off into space for a second. Then nodded. ‘Didn’t get burned at all.’  
‘Perfect.’ 

When they reached their base, the firepits burned bright. They made their way from the stable, to where an old woman sat cross legged on a purple carpet.  
She looked old and very tired, with her hair in a grey bun and an old fashioned dress.  
A fire burned by her side. Behind her, old bookcases made a wall, filled with greyish scrolls. Several half-finished books lay in front of her, their pages waiting to be completed and bound.  
Willow, tripping onto the carpet, fell to her knees by the woman. ‘Wickerbottom! We found someone!’  
The woman held up her hand. ‘Did you bring my papyrus?’  
Willow handed them over to her.  
‘Excellent.’  
Then the Librarian opened one eye. ‘Found someone?’  
On hands and knees, Willow nodded. ‘I discovered him on the beach, washed ashore! And he has a dog!’  
Wickerbottom peered over her glasses, to where Woodie laid him down. Careful to keep him off the papers.  
‘Washed ashore, you say.’ With some difficulty, she stood. She touched the man’s cheek, turning his face. ‘A pretty one. Where did you come from?’  
Willow smiled into her hand. ‘Maybe he’s a mermaid, here to find his lost love on land.’  
Wickerbottom looked up, with the glimpse of a smile on her lips. ‘But a mermaid has no tears,’ she quoted, ‘and therefore she suffers so much more.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ll ask him when he wakes up. Unless he did trade his voice for a wish. But there is always a way to make people understand each other.’  
She glanced at the dog that cowered at the man’s side. Canis lupus un-familiaris, it seemed.  
The old woman bent back, her hands to her spine. There was an audible click. ‘Woodie, would you be a dear and carry him with us to the big fire? We’ll let him warm up there.’  
She sighed. ‘Dinner has to be ready by now. I am vamished. Anyone else hungry?’  
‘Starving,’ Willow said.  
Woodie took care how he lifted the man. ‘That’s good. Maybe we’ll convince our cook with our numbers. He’ll have to hand out the food if we all beg for it.’  
‘I’ve nothing against high standards,’ Wickerbottom said. ‘But the man is being ridiculous. We live in a cave, after all.’  
Willow took her arm, walking with her. ‘Maybe a guest will distract him.’  
‘Oh dear,’ Wickerbottom said.

‘No. This throws everything off! I don’t have enough lichen for an extra entrée. They need to be at room temperature for at least an hour, to reveal any flavour at all. What if he’s a vegetarian. Allergies? I need to get a feel for our guest to serve him.’ Warly held out his hands. ‘It’s a disaster. And I won’t be a part of it.’  
Woodie sighed. ‘Then let us handle this disaster, by eating it.’  
‘I know you are not being serious right now,’ Warly said. ‘That’s why I am still calm.’  
Willow tipped her head to one side. ‘Aren’t you hungry, Warly?’  
‘Always.’  
‘Then can we have our dinner? He’s asleep. He won’t be dining with us. Look at him.’  
Warly sighed. He was a tall, thin man with dark skin and elegant features. ‘I may have gotten overwhelmed.’  
The man by the fire on a mat didn’t seem in need of an entrée, let alone a main course.  
Wickerbottom made her way to the long table, framed by two rows of tiki torches. The setting felt delicate, with a white tablecloth and real chairs. It looked out of place in the stone surroundings of the cave. She sighed. ‘I hesitate to promise this, Warly. But we may judge your food with points afterwards.’  
Warly’s jaw opened, then shut. He stiffened, trying to hide a smile that grew between his goatee and moustache. ‘With different categories?’  
She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘If we eat promptly, then yes.’  
Woodie held out a piece of paper and a feather. ‘I’m taking notes.’  
Warly clapped his hands. ‘Then dinner... is served!’  
A boy crawled into sight from underneath the table. He turned off their mining helmet and placed a book back into his inventory. ‘Ready to assist!,’ the boy yelled.  
Warly smiled, hands behind his back and chest out. ‘Thank you, first assistant to the cook!’  
A furry creature followed the boy, then froze.  
The boy turned. ‘Woby?’  
Woby growled, then started for the newcomer by the fire. An orange streak landed in his way, barking in a frenzy.  
The boy stared. He was dressed like a boy scout, with freckles standing out on his tan skin. ‘Another dog?’ he straightened a triangle hat over his curly hair, and marched towards the scene.  
Someone took a hold of his hand.  
It was Willow.  
‘Can you call her back?’ she asked. ‘We’re really hungry and Wickerbottom needs to eat most of all.’  
He bit his lip, straining to run off and do what he wanted. Then he nodded. ‘Okay.’  
He whistled and Woby ran to him.  
‘Thank you so much,’ Willow smiled.  
He nodded. ‘First assistant to the cook, reporting for duty!’  
Woodie sat down opposite Wickerbottom, scribbling on his notepad with extravagance.  
This was going to take a while.  
Occasionally they’d take a look at the stranger, but the man didn’t move at all. The fire didn’t warm him either.


	19. Falling into you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, welcome to a new chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and that you are okay.   
> Some archive warnings do apply.

Maxwell sat down. It was time to rest. He could walk forever in this place, but occasionally he got tired.  
It was dark. So dark he couldn’t see himself or where he sat. But he knew the way. He knew every twist and turn of this place, and that it never ended.  
Maybe he was dead.  
Was this the afterlife? He rubbed his hands, imagining his breath clouding the air.  
Could you feel cold in hell?  
It seemed he was spared the flames, only to wander in darkness. Fitting. You forgot what you did wrong while you lived? You will be kept in the dark forever.  
His chest expanded, and he tipped his head back against the frozen wall.  
Somehow it was a comfort.  
I wasn’t entirely useless; he thought. I saved some people. That felt good.  
The smell of something familiar made him sit up. Sweet, like a flower.  
For a moment it felt like someone adjusted his collar.  
Then he heard a voice in his head. “You can fight anything, you are so brave.”  
Maxwell shrugged, closing his eyes. That was an exaggeration, but kind.  
“Everyone wants you back,” the voice said. “You made things better by being there. You were fun to be around.”  
He shook his head, but the voice went on: “You made yourself worthwhile. You have more to do. We need you. You’re useful.”  
He opened his eyes. That wasn’t true.  
“Didn’t you rest enough?”  
Rest. The word made him feel warm. Some darkness seemed to shift, and then there was a light.  
It was faint, a haze in the distance.  
Maxwell pushed himself up.

He headed towards the light. It really felt like walking through a tunnel.  
So, this was the end? It felt odd to go towards it. He’d wanted to say goodbye to-  
Maxwell stepped back. ‘Wilson!’  
The shining figure smiled at him, the source of that light. It was him, if Wilson was made of colored sunlight.  
‘This is where we first met,’ the radiant figure said with a smile.  
Maxwell backed away further, but Wilson took his hand.  
It was strange for Maxwell to see his own body again, in this light. He existed, after all.  
Wilson turned his back on him. He took Maxwell’s arm and draped it across his chest.  
The scientist giggled. It sounded amazing. Maxwell felt it warm him up from inside.  
‘You held me so tight,’ Wilson said. The younger man turned to look at him.  
‘You took my breath away,’ he said. ‘No-one ever held me like that. You were my first!’  
Maxwells felt his cheeks burn so hard he was sure they glowed.  
He took Wilson’s hand, and with care, manoeuvred himself away.  
Get some room to breathe. To think.  
Wilson closed the distance, leaning in close enough to kiss. He smiled up at him, eyes heavy-lidded.  
Maxwell grabbed his wrists and pushed Wilson back against the further wall. Pinning him against it with his weight.  
Wilson squirmed.  
‘That right,’ Maxwell said. ‘That’s how it goes.’  
His mouth dry, Maxwell shook his head. He stumbled backwards, a hand over his mouth. ‘Wilson… I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’  
Eyes closed, Wilson shrugged.  
‘Come on,’ the younger man said. ‘You need to see this.’  
Maxwell went with him. It was better than whatever THAT had been. He rubbed the back of his neck.  
Wilson pulled him down to the ground and giggled. ‘Sssh, look.’  
Maxwell found the gap in the wall Wilson pointed at. He let his eyes adjust to the scene in the other room and froze.  
On a table he could see Wilson, not a being of light but more like he knew him. Well, he could see everything except his head. A shadowy figure obscured that from view.  
‘Lay still,’ the figure said. It sounded demanding and cold.  
He sounds familiar, Maxwell realised. Then he heard a zipper.  
Maxwell blinked but couldn’t look away.  
The figure gripped Wilson’s throat with gloved hands, forcing himself down into his mouth.  
Maxwell hit the wall with a fist. ‘Hey!’  
He could see Wilson’s hands gripped the sides of the table, knuckles white.  
They couldn’t hear him.  
‘That’s a good boy,’ the shadow man said. ‘Stay still.’ He squeezed harder, making the other man squirm, chest contracting to breathe.  
Maxwell banged on the cold stone. ‘Leave him alone!’  
‘Keep still,’ the man repeated while he moved in and out. Slow.  
Maxwell backed away. His breath hitched and he covered his eyes.  
The Wilson next to him smiled. “Beautiful.”  
Maxwell looked at his hands. There was an echo of feeling there. Like he could feel them choke someone.  
The light moved towards him and Maxwell jumped to his feet.  
Wilson knelt in front of him, pressing his head to his leg. He looked up.  
‘Want me to make you feel good?’  
Maxwell froze. He shook his head.  
Wilson nuzzled his pants, moving inwards.  
Maxwell covered his face. ‘Wait! S-stand up.’  
Wilson did so with alacrity.  
The magician pushed the hair out of his face and breathed in.  
Something is very wrong here. He bit his lip and said the first thing that offered itself to his mind.  
‘Can’t you show me the way out?’  
Wilson took his hand again and pulled him along. He kept glancing back, smiling, eyes unfocused.  
Maxwell looked away.

They stood in front of a familiar-looking door. Before Maxwell could stop him, Wilson went through.  
Maxwell followed him into the dark and walked into a kiss.  
And he was kissing back. Grabbing the dark hair and yanking it back.  
He detached himself with a cry.  
‘Don’t!’  
Wilson laughed, it sounded teasing. Then he kissed him again.  
Maxwell gripped Wilson’s shoulders. He held him away from him.  
Wilson’s head lolled back, and he giggled.  
His own head spinning, Maxwell looked at the room. Heavy curtains, a large bed. An elegant nightstand with a single vase on it. Why is this place so familiar?  
The other man leaned in close, he whispered against his neck. “What’s the matter?”  
‘Please,’ his voice cracked, ‘Wilson what’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?’  
His words echoed through the room and somewhere a glass shattered.  
Maxwell turned his head to look, and when he looked back Wilson had disappeared.  
He swallowed. The room became smaller around him. His foot stepped on something. A red rose.  
Someone banged on the door.  
‘I know you’re in there!’ he heard a male voice shout from behind the wood. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you little idiot.’  
Maxwell opened his mouth to speak, but the voice behind the door laughed. An awful sound.  
‘You drink up now, dear. Maybe you’ll actually be pleasant company for once. Do stay in there until the guests leave, darling. You’ve embarrassed me enough, don’t you think?’  
A bottle rolled out from under the bed.  
Maxwell gripped his own shaking hands. He forced them to be still.  
This place is haunted.  
He gritted his teeth. There was another door behind the bed. He headed towards it. 

The door led into another bedroom, almost the same as the one before.  
‘You’re being different today,’ Wilson said. The young man lay on the bed, naked and pale against the sheets.  
Maxwell averted his eyes.  
Wilson arched his back. ‘Want to just see me hurt?’  
As he’d said it, a cut slashed his cheek.  
Maxwell went to him, covering the gash with his hands. Kneeling by the bed.  
He gasped, hands trembling. ‘I don’t. I really don’t.’  
Wilson laughed, the blood seeped over his smile and between his teeth. Then his eye puffed up and pinched shut behind a bruise.  
Maxwell cradled the injured head in his hands, feeling the blood on his skin. ‘Stop. Please. I don’t want it!’  
‘You love me so much,’ Wilson said. ‘Taking care of me like this.’  
‘God.’ Maxwell shook his head. ‘Who did this to you?’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘Wilson!’  
He backed away from the bed, but Wilson wouldn’t stop getting fresh injuries.  
Maxwell crawled back to him. He held onto the sheets while the man groaned and contorted.  
‘I’ll be out soon,’ Wilson breathed. ‘You can do what you like to me then.’  
Maxwell made a fist and the skin on his knuckles split. He stared at the blood running over the back of his hand.  
What is this madness?  
He tasted blood as a fresh bite mark blossomed on Wilson’s cheek.  
Maxwell sat there staring, eyes wide, unable to think.

Then it was quiet. Wilson lay there, naked and vulnerable. A wreck.  
Maxwell wrapped him in the silken sheets and lifted him over his shoulder.  
‘This madhouse had a door that goes out,’ he said. ‘I know where it is.’  
If he said it out loud, it must be true. It had to be. 

He made it into a narrow hallway, a dimly lit passage lined with small paintings. Holding onto Wilson, he walked through it.  
It was difficult to see the pictures on the dark wallpaper; they showed nothing he cared to look at for long. Lots of bruised skin and blurred faces.  
Somewhere in the house there was shouting going on. More shattering glass.  
Maxwell grabbed Wilson tight and kept walking. He opened a door at random. A bedroom, of course. Then he saw a shadow get up from the bed and just… step into the wall.  
Maxwell swallowed, suppressing a shiver. But the shouting was getting louder, the pictures of the little gallery more gruesome.  
He entered the room. 

His knees trembled, but he couldn’t let go of the other man.  
‘I-’ He had to swallow several times to get his voice to work. ‘I left myself a hint,’ he said, feeling like he was reading something aloud. ‘It just -It doesn't do- t- to get lost.’  
A mirror appeared in front of him. Maxwell turned away from it, unable to look at himself.  
The room now held a chair with a top hat on it.  
Wilson made a sound.  
‘It’s alright,’ Maxwell said, his voice strained. ‘Because I’m Maxwell... M….’ he groaned, holding his forehead. No, I’m not. It didn’t sound right.  
Something chirped next to the fogged glass of the window. A bird in a birdcage.  
Maxwell went to it. A beautiful red cardinal. There were some seeds in its feeding tray.  
He took them from it.  
That made the bird fall off its perch.  
He stared at the dead creature, backing away and feeling sick.  
When he turned towards the mirror, it had become a door. Old, bent and twisted with damp. That’s where the figure had gone through earlier. It was all a trick, somehow.  
‘It’s the way out,’ he told Wilson. ‘We’ll get back to the group and forget about this.’  
He glanced back at the birdcage. But the bird did not come back to life.  
Then the old door opened and the smell that came out drove him to his knees.  
Dry earth and damp floorboards. It wafted over to him and made him hunch over. Why did it hurt to smell that? Nothing but dust and sand… and hunger.  
Inside the gloom up ahead, an empty bottle hit the floor.  
‘William?’ A voice asked from the darkness.  
The room spun round him while his heartbeat thundered in his ears.  
He held Wilson tight and stumbled through.

But they stepped into a different place. A throne room, lit from all sides by silver torches.  
‘No,’ a voice spoke from the throne at the center. ‘We’re not going back there.’  
Maxwell, still reeling, wondered why he felt lighter.  
Then he noticed his arms were empty.  
He walked up to the man on the throne.  
It was the same silhouette from before. The one that had hurt Wilson.  
‘Where’s Wilson? What did you do to him!’  
The man chuckled and made it sound condescending.  
Maxwell bunched his fists. He’s the man that shouted through the door.  
The silhouette tilted its head to one side. ‘So you decided to show your face here. Don’t you think one is enough?’ He leaned into the light and Maxwell was looking up at his own face.  
It’s old Maxwell, he realised. The one everyone hates. And he looked cruel, like a real bastard.  
‘Wilson,’ Maxwell said, ‘where is he?’  
Throne Maxwell shrugged. He looked tired. No, he looked bored.  
Maxwell’s nostrils flared. ‘Give him back.’  
‘You can’t threaten me,’ Throne Maxwell said. ‘You are me.’  
‘I’m not.’  
Throne Maxwell laughed. ‘This is one of our games. We’ve been here before. It’s been a while, but it got tedious a long time ago.’  
Maxwell shook with rage.  
‘What is this place?’ he gestured around the room, but meant the rooms from before. He had a feeling that the other Maxwell knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘Your madhouse?’  
Throne Maxwell let out a sigh. ‘Such indignation. You should know, you built it. Found your way around just fine.’  
Maxwell took something out of his inventory.  
The shadow sword gleamed oily black in the silver flames.  
There was a look of surprise on Throne Maxwell’s face. Then the old man smirked.  
‘I’ll play along. Go on. Step up to the throne. Kill Evil Maxwell. Let Good Maxwell reign.’  
Maxwell came closer.  
A memory sprang up in his mind. He felt a thin spray of blood on his face, then a fantom pressure wrapped itself around his arms. He HAD been here before.  
He let his arms hang at his sides. This was a trick. Just a trick. His fingers curled around the hilt.  
Throne Maxwell had an audible smirk in his voice: ‘Not all that easy, after all. You’re just a splinter of the tree.’  
Then Maxwell angled the sword up underneath his ribs and fell onto it.  
Old Maxwell jumped up from the throne. ‘You fool!’  
Maxwell went down, coughing dark blood up into his own face.  
Throne Maxwell held him. There was genuine pain and fear in that ugly face.  
Tears spilled over the old face, while he tried to stop the bleeding. ‘What did you do! You can’t do this! I’ll keep you safe! What do you want to see? What do you need me to tell you?’  
Maxwell’s head tipped back. He watched them both sink into the floor. Melting together.  
Throne Maxwell screamed. ‘No! Stay here! Don’t leave me! Look at this!’  
Above them, a screen flickered to life. There was Wilson.  
Both Maxwell’s looked up at the figure in a white dress, being abused beyond reason.  
Maxwell breathed out and felt his life leave him. The screen. The throne. This room. His eyes widened and his chin hit his chest. He forced himself to keep staring up at the suffering. Burn it into his mind. Wilson. How could I let this happen to you?  
He tensed his arms at his sides, letting the blood gush out of his wound faster.  
Throne Maxwell cradled him, coiling around him. ‘Please! I don’t know what to do.’ He sobbed. ‘I don’t know what to do!’  
Maxwell closed his eyes. 

He opened them when he heard seagulls. Fresh ocean air filled his lungs as he sat up in a little rowboat.  
It was a sunny day, and white gulls flew by overhead.  
Maxwell cradled his head, curling in on himself. The rooms clung to his mind, the things that went on in there. The throne. He rocked back and forth.  
I kidnapped Wilson! I took him. I-  
Someone coughed. ‘What are you doing?’  
Maxwell turned.  
‘Wilson!’  
Wilson lifted an eyebrow and gave him a look. He was less shiny. More real.  
He still had a smile on his face, but there was an edge to it.  
Maxwell swallowed. ‘Wilson. I-’ He rubbed his hands across his face. ‘God. I took a piece of you. I took a piece of you, Wilson. From day one. Your room. MY room. I’m remembering. And I-’  
Wilson rolled his eyes. ‘What are you upset about? It’s a nice day.’  
The young man came closer in a half crawl. ‘Can’t we just spend some time together? While I’m not being eaten.’  
Maxwell pushed his hands to his eyes. ‘I’m trying to tell you something.’  
‘Always playing games,’ Wilson said. He had a dead look in his eyes, it looked out-of-place above that smile. ‘I’ll play along if it gets me what I want.’  
Close enough to touch, Wilson leaned in and grabbed Maxwell’s collar. The man looked down at him, lips parted.  
Maxwell grabbed the hand on his shirt, but Wilson was already on him.  
They struggled on the bottom of the boat.  
‘Listen!’ Maxwell breathed, his words snatched away by Wilson’s kisses. ‘Wilson-’  
He grabbed the dark hair, eliciting a groan from the scientist. Then he forced him back, holding him by the throat. ‘You’re nothing,’ he said and meant it.  
Maxwell let go, cowering. He covered his face with his arms. God. I said that.  
Why?  
He’s everything. He made every day better. All I did was take and sneer.  
Wilson was back. He trailed his hands up across his chest, cuddling into him. He felt so small.  
Maxwell let out a moan. He bit his lip until it bled. ‘Damn you! I just want to-’  
‘Me too,’ Wilson whispered. He found a way underneath the arms and kissed him deep.  
Their breathing quickened, their limbs entwined.  
Maxwell held Wilson’s face, his hands trembling.  
‘Please- Let me explain- I can’t-’  
Wilson, on top, looked down at him. ‘This is where I told you,’ he said.

Maxwell swallowed. ‘Told me what?’  
A tear fell onto his face, but it could have been the rain from the clouds that drifted in.  
Wilson climbed off him, backing away.  
Maxwell sat up.  
The scientist clutched his stomach. ‘Even though I knew you didn’t feel the same, I let it happen.’ He shook his head, biting his thumb. ‘You were toying with me, I know that.’ Leaning back out of the boat, his head came close to the water.  
‘Don’t do that,’ Maxwell held out his hand.  
Wilson sat back up, rocking the vessel. His eyes, that had been lifeless before, gleamed. ‘I can’t help it.’ He hugged himself and shivered. ‘I want to be close to you.’  
He crawled back towards Maxwell. ‘I don’t care. I don’t matter. I’ll rescue you. I’ll be with you. Even if I’m just a joke to you.’  
Maxwell shook his head. He couldn’t speak.  
He held out his hands to stop Wilson, but Wilson clung to them.  
Tears in his eyes, Wilson shook his head. ‘Please don’t push me away. I need you. Please. I’m so alone. You’re all I have. I’ll behave. I promise. I’ll do everything you want.’  
Maxwell grabbed Wilson’s shoulders, looking into his face.  
‘Don’t you see?’ he said. ‘I made you like this. I manipulated you!’  
Wilson swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not what you want me to be.’ He sagged into his arms and Maxwell didn’t dare push him away.  
Maxwell groaned. ‘I broke you.’ He felt Wilson’s chest expand and shrink, relaxing in his arms that offered no safety at all.  
‘I took advantage of you.’

Something bumped the boat from underwater. Maxwell sat up to find his arms were empty again.  
He pressed his hands to his face, his teeth visible in a pained smile.  
‘I looked down at you,’ he said, ‘and I talked and talked. As if you weren’t real at all!’  
Then he leaned over the boat and saw the ink spread through the water.  
He glimpsed his own reflection and backed away.  
Maxwell stood, balancing with his arms out on the little boat afloat in darkness. He dove in headfirst.  
A monster floated underneath the surface. A tentacled brute that resembled him from the waist up. It held Wilson tight, floating down into the deep.  
Maxwell swam, kicking his legs to keep up through the crushing pressure. 

His hands found an underwater entrance, a hole into rough stone. He pulled himself inside.  
There he landed in a darkened room. The place stank of heavy iron and outhouse.  
He let out a yell when he noticed the blood, the floor shone with it.  
A severed arm lay next to him. Maxwell recoiled from it and stood. Shaking, teeth clattering, he looked round.  
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw more limbs strewn about. Crushed and dead, familiar bodies piled up around him.  
The deaths.  
Maxwell pressed his icy hands to his neck. The endless dying!  
He tried to walk but kept slipping in the crimson mess. The blood thick on his hands, he scrambled through.  
Oh Wilson, I kept count in the beginning. As if it wasn’t driving you insane. I did this with others.  
It was interesting to see you get hurt. Then it was fun to be your only help and comfort. It felt good to see the gratitude in your eyes.  
Maxwell sucked in his lips, holding still. Don’t cry, you old fool. You bastard. Don’t you dare! You don’t deserve it. 

Something moved. He knew it was Wilson before he saw him.  
The other man lay on his side. He was missing an arm. The blood that pooled underneath him was warm. Still bleeding, the red spread out wider and further.  
Maxwell choked, he fell to his knees.  
There was nothing of that light left now. Wilson lay there pale and unmoving, his eyes glazed over white.  
The corpse tried to speak, then it pressed its face into its own blood.  
Maxwell placed a hand on the familiar face. Despite everything, Wilson smiled.  
‘This is where you left me,’ the corpse whispered.  
Then it lay still.  
Maxwell sat there for a long time. Slowly, he noticed a noise. The subtle movement of a metal chain. He stood. 

The next room was a flooded cave. A cramped hovel lit by flickering torches. And the sound came from here.  
A monster stuck to the wall over a small beach. Glistening black tentacles  
holding onto its prize: Wilson.  
This Wilson was alive. Maxwell could see him react to the groping feelers around him. The monster held him tight, covering his eyes and mouth with its black tendrils.  
Bones lay underneath it, used up and forgotten.  
A grey face surfaced from the writhing mass, and of course it was his own. It latched onto Wilson’s neck.  
Maxwell retched while he watched it suck Wilson’s blood, then it retreated. 

It's monstrous. It needs to die.  
He held out the sword and walked up to it.  
A tentacle smacked it out of his hand. Another coiled around his wrist, pulling him in.  
Maxwell let out a scream. But it sat him down near the bones, then continued feeding on Wilson.  
Maxwell’s lip quivered, but he slapped his own face. Get it together! Feeling like a child, he stood.  
‘Let him go.’  
It ignored him.  
Maxwell looked for the sword, gone.  
This close up, the thing was enormous. A pulsating darkness above.  
There was a chain there. It went around some tentacles, capturing an arm.  
I had principles once, Maxwell thought.  
Before I got onto that train.  
The thought was strange. Something had happened to him that had changed his life forever. Something extraordinary. It didn’t matter.  
‘You’re weak,’ he said, trying to get heard above the hideous suckling sounds.  
Maxwell closed his eyes and breathed in. ‘You pretend you’re better than everyone else, but you’re not.’ He looked up at it, trying to see into the face. ‘You’re hiding from your own ineptitude.’  
The grey face surfaced, half-hidden behind Wilson. It had cold, dark eyes that stared through Maxwell.  
‘Stronger than you,’ it said.  
Then in uncoiled itself, coming down to the ground. Still holding onto Wilson.  
It looked at him without feeling.  
‘I only exist because you are weak,’ it said. ‘You let me hurt people. You enjoy it.’  
‘I don’t!’  
It slapped him, sending him back into the water.  
Maxwell surfaced, coughing. But his mouth was a set line. He'd found the sword.  
You couldn’t reason with this creature.  
The monster had focused back on feeding when Maxwell cut off the first tentacle.  
It lashed out, and he sliced through another one.  
It held up Wilson in front of it, twisting the unresisting head back. ‘I’ll kill him!’  
Maxwell lowered his weapon. 

The monster leered at him.  
‘The strong feed on the weak.’  
Maxwell looked down at his face reflected at him in the water. He looked into his own eyes.  
‘You got that twisted,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘It’s the weak who feed on the strong.’  
It laughed. ‘Yes, you are weak.’  
Maxwell shook his head. ‘You see the strength and talent in others and you cringe. Because all you have is spite and bitterness.’  
It bared its teeth at him, sharp and glinting. The tentacles holding Wilson slackened.  
Maxwell faced it. ‘You never stood on your own,’ he went on. ‘All you did was run away from your failures. And when someone handed you an inch of power, you messed that up too.’  
He stepped back before it could grab him.  
‘You tear good people down,’ he yelled. ‘Until all they can do is look up at you. But there is nothing there. It will never be enough for you, whatever you take, because no one else can ever turn you into something valuable.’  
The monster thrashed against the chains, Wilson completely forgotten in the sand.  
Maxwell took another step back, knee deep in the water now. It was coming in from the walls.  
The monster snapped loose and was on him in a blink.  
Biting, thrashing. Trying to drown him, consume him.  
Maxwell slashed and when the space wasn’t there, he drove the sword in deep, letting black blood flow like sepsis from a wound.  
I am this monster.  
I need to kill it and die.

Powerful hands fastened around his throat. The monster pushed him down onto the beach.  
He held the sword to the monster’s chest, but it was stronger, squeezing the life from him.  
It opened its cavernous mouth.  
Then it fell onto the sword.  
Maxell stared into the bruised and battered face of Wilson.  
Lying on its back, Wilson pressed the monster down further into the sword.  
It writhed and screamed, then it lashed out and hit the wall with its remaining tentacles.  
Stones came down from the ceiling and water rushed in from the ocean above.  
They went under.

Wilson swam down.  
Maxwell sat held in place by the weight of the impaled monster.  
The scientist grabbed Maxwell’s arm.  
Maxwell shook his head, his hair rippling underwater. He gripped the chain.  
Wilson nodded up to the light that shone in from the broken ceiling. Another stone drifted down, making a drowned crash beside them.  
Their fingers interlaced.  
A shadow wrapped around Wilson’s waist and tore him free.  
He fought it. But the shadow hand came from Maxwell himself. 

The magician lifted him up, towards the opening, and out into the ocean.  
When the roof came down, Maxwell finally knew.  
This is what I should have done.  
Retake my place on the throne, then put Wilson back where I took him from.  
It wouldn’t have fixed the damage, but  
he’d have known.  
Maxwell blinked when he found out himself. He would have known that I loved him back. 

When Maxwell opened his eyes, he sat up to a crowd. There were happy smiles and cheers around him.  
His face fell, and he backed away.  
He stumbled over his unused legs, landing on his hands and knees. ‘Don’t!’  
A silence fell.  
He managed to speak after a few tries. ‘Don’t be happy for me. I’m evil.’  
Webber looked at him. ‘Uh,... we know?’  
‘No,’ Maxwell swallowed, his throat dry and voice cracked. ‘I made this world, formed it.’  
Wurt frowned at him. ‘Yeah, I told YOU that.’  
Maxwell cradled his head. Now he had to live with it. Nothing had changed for them, but now He knew.  
Why couldn’t I just die?  
He rocked back and forth. ‘I’m not the Maxwell from before. I’m someone else. I remember now. I remember what I did.’  
‘You’re William?’ Winona asked.  
Maxwell looked at the woman, hands falling at his sides. ‘How?’  
She shrugged. ‘Wilson tried to wake you with that name a few times. Didn’t work though.’  
He groaned, curling in on himself. ‘Wilson! God. He shouldn’t have let me join you. I’m a horror. I’m not human.’  
Webber walked up to him and kept walking, a deadpan look on his face.  
Maxwell followed him with his eyes.  
The child stepped up to the burning fire pit and held his arm into it. He lit himself up and started screaming.  
‘DON’T!’ Maxwell was at his side, putting out the flames. ‘What were you thinking!’  
Webber fell over him, holding onto his back.  
‘Don’t.’ Maxwell tried to get him off without touching the child. ‘Let go. Webber. Please! Let go, don’t touch me. I’m disgusting.’ He shivered, tears in his voice.  
Someone else joined the hug.  
‘Wurt. God. Let go.’  
He was sobbing now, his shoulders shaking. It was difficult to get the words out.  
‘Wendy, stay back! I knew you.’ He drew a long breath that cut off short. ‘We are related by blood. I can’t tell you anything about your life. I didn’t care! There’s nothing I cared about!’  
Now everyone piled onto him. He let them push him down, too afraid to touch anyone. ‘Please!’  
Winona, her head to his head; ‘So you came back with your memories. Isn’t that what you wanted?’  
Maxwell grabbed his hair, tensing up and shaking his head.  
‘I am glad you made it,’ Wigfrid said, ‘Wilson will be happy.’  
Maxwell writhed, trying to make a break for it. He was no match for them.

Eventually they had to let him stand.  
He made it a few steps towards the darkness.  
Winona folded her arms. ‘You’re just going to abandon us? That what you want?’  
He spun round, tears in his eyes. ‘I- never!’  
Wigfrid waved at him. ‘Come sit here,’ she pointed to a place by the fire. ‘You’re being difficult.’  
He shook his head, looking haunted.  
Winona smiled at him. He averted his eyes.  
‘You want to help us leave this place,’ she said. ‘Right?’  
He looked at his feet, then nodded. ‘Nothing more than that.’  
She took his arm, ignoring the way he trembled.  
‘Sit down and eat something. That is helpful.’  
He let himself be sat down.  
Webber shoved him, then hugged him.  
Maxwell swallowed. Then he placed an arm around the boy.  
Wendy sat down at his other side. She looked at the entrance to their base with eagerness. ‘Shouldn’t Wilson be back by now?’ 

Wilson sat up too. He gasped, drenched in sweat.  
‘He woke up!’ a bright voice yelled.  
Unfamiliar faces crowded round him.  
‘Looks like he finally warmed up, excellent.’  
A boy he didn’t know climbed onto his lap. ‘Are you really a mermaid?’  
‘Walter! Get down from the man.’  
Wilson tried to stand, but collapsed. He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Where’s Maxwell?’  
He fell back onto the sleeping mat, eyes unable to focus. ‘Where is everyone?’  
A cool hand pressed down on his forehead.  
‘Willow dear, ease up on the fire. He’s warming up a little too much now.’  
‘I shall prepare a soup,’ someone said. ‘Come, assistant!’  
Wilson rolled over, too weak to get up again.  
A girl sat next to him by the fire. She smiled, and when she opened her hand, a flame flickered around her fingers.  
‘You’re safe now,’ she said, making a fist. ‘No-one will hurt you. We’ll turn anyone that tries into screaming cinders.’  
An old woman placed a pillow underneath his head. ‘Willow?’  
She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Only if you don’t explode them first, Wickerbottom.’  
‘That’s correct, dear.’


	20. Fitness and fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a week and it only just started!   
> Here is an update for you, fresh. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this, and that things are going well <3

Wilson sat up with a gasp, a hand to his heart.  
‘You okay there, buddy?’  
It was still unusual to wake up with a stranger nearby. The redheaded man sat on a bench by the fire. He held a piece of wood in his hands, cutting it into shape with a knife. Woodie.  
Wilson let out a breath. ‘I had a dream about something else.’  
‘Something else?,’ Woodie asked.  
There was something calming about the way the man worked. A curl of wood shaving appeared under the blade, falling to the floor.  
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. ‘A tree that’s not from here.’ He blushed, clearing his throat. ‘A pink one, with the blossoms? It was pretty.’  
‘Japanese cherry,’ Wickerbottom said, joining them. ‘Prunus serrulata, most likely.’  
Wilson pulled up his knees, resting his chin on them. He nodded, staring at the fire.  
Wickerbottom smiled down at him. ‘I’m here to see if you are feeling up to joining us.’  
He blinked. ‘Join you?’  
‘We hold a fitness session every second day. To keep the body strong and flexible.’  
Woodie stood, setting his work down a safe distance from the flames.  
‘About time,’ he said, ‘my spine could use some flexing.’  
The thought of staying back alone made Wilson’s heart speed up. He stood, accepting the arm from Woodie to steady himself.  
His body didn’t feel the same. He’d also been falling asleep a lot. Maybe some “flexing” would do him good.

On the way to wherever they were going, Wilson looked past the camp, towards the darkness of the caves. He hadn’t checked the map yet.  
The others were probably gathering for the machine. And-  
‘Careful now,’ Woodie placed a hand on his shoulder, preventing a fall to the ground.  
Wilson massaged his temples. ‘Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.’  
Wickerbottom looked back over her shoulder at them. ‘That will come back with time. And do feel free to stop, should this become too strenuous.’  
He nodded.  
They had cleared an open space between a loose circle of fire pits. A purple carpet lay in front of a row of smaller mats.  
At the end of the line sat the young woman in a cross-legged position. Her name was Willow.  
Next to her sat the child, and next to him the cook had taken up a space.  
Wilson waved back when they acknowledged him, then looked down.  
Woodie brought him to the furthest mat. The woodcutter taking the spot next to him.  
There was one empty mat left, Wilson noticed, in the middle.  
Wickerbottom stood on the large carpet, facing them.  
Everyone who had been sitting stood.  
She took a deep breath. ‘Wilson, if you’d like to change, there is a closet right there. You just open it and things go their own way from there.’  
Now that she’d said it, he noticed he was the only one dressed in his usual outfit. Everyone wore something like a long bathing suit, or shorts with a shirt. He felt very out of place.  
Wilson went to the closet and opened the door. A rush of darkness left him standing in a black shirt with comfortable dark pants. No shoes. He pulled at the hem of the unfamiliar shirt. This, was odd.  
‘Excellent,’ the old woman said, waving for him to join. ‘Now return to the front and do what I do.’  
Wilson stared down at himself on the mat. He grimaced. When was the last time I actually wore something different?  
Wickerbottom took another deep breath, and the others followed her example.  
Wilson tried, but his breathing just wouldn’t go that deep. It stopped before his chest filled up all the way, then paused too soon while breathing out.  
Strange how you don’t pay attention to something as mundane as breathing, he thought.  
They had moved on. Everyone had their arms raised, and he threw his up to match. Then they bowed forward, fingertips to the mat.  
Wilson dangled his arms. No way. Not in a million years would his hands reach all the way down.  
There were a couple of repetitions, some touching of knees or thighs. More breathing. Something about a straight spine and neck.  
It was difficult to keep up. Then it was time to sit down.  
Wilson wiped his forehead. If nothing else, this was good exercise.  
He couldn’t make his legs be like a pretzel, though. Also, it was uncomfortable to look at his feet. Somehow he’d never really acknowledged them until now.  
You belong in shoes, in socks, not just out and about. Maybe in summer. Or for a swim.  
Dammit. Now everyone was on their hands and knees. Wilson rushed to get into the same position.  
He stared down at his hands and a flash of white made him see wooden floorboards, smeared and creaking under the weight of heavy footfall.  
And the smell. 

Wilson breathed too fast, holding a torch in a shaking fist.  
He blinked at his new surroundings. Boulders stood out from the sand next to a river. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sank down. He pressed his hand to the cold stone surface, then brought it to his face.  
The rushing water drowned out his thoughts.  
‘Wilson!’ Someone he didn’t know yelled his name.  
His torch flared up, and he stood.  
‘There you are!’ Pushing her dark hair out of her eyes, Willow walked up to him.  
‘Are you alright?’  
Wilson looked at her, a tremble in his voice. ‘What did I do?’  
‘You don’t remember? You just suddenly stood up and left.’ She looked away, then back into his face. ‘I tried calling you, but I don’t think you heard me.’  
His brow knitted. He hadn’t. ‘I just needed to leave.’  
She shrugged. ‘Woodie said something like that. But I came looking anyway. You don’t know your way around yet.’  
After a pause, she handed him something. ‘Here.’  
‘My clothes. Thank you.’  
She turned away while he changed.  
‘Let’s head back,’ she said. ‘You’ll freeze to death out here.’  
They were walking for a while when he noticed. ‘How did you find me?’  
She smiled, her face illuminated by the torch.  
‘Your light. I knew where it was.’  
‘How?’ He was glad to have something to talk about. ‘The boulders hid me from view.’  
She shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter. Fire is my thing, you know.’ She held up her hand, and a spark flew from his torch to her fingers.  
Wilson stared at the small flame flickering on her open palm.  
‘You’re holding fire,’ he said.  
Willow grinned. Then extinguished it by snapping her fingers.  
He sucked in a quick breath. ‘Doesn’t that hurt!’  
She shook her head, folding her hands behind her back and smiling.  
They walked in silence for a while. A blue, luminous type of fungi made the ceiling above look like it held uncountable stars.  
‘We’re not back yet,’ Wilson said. ‘I must’ve run quite a while.’ He tilted his head back and blinked at the “stars.”  
‘Thanks for coming after me,’ added. ‘I actually didn’t hear you call me. Back on the mats. I uh, I think this happened to me before. I’m kind of a mess right now.’  
He waved his hand, trying to keep his voice level. ‘Bad memories.’ He forced a grin. ‘I thought I was done with all that stuff.’  
Willow sighed. ‘Things are going well. Then it all comes crashing back down and you don’t really know who you’re supposed to be.’  
He nodded, pressing his lips thin.  
‘You know,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of amazing what your body will do for you.’  
He let out a breath. ‘You’d think it would just give up. With all the bad things it has to go through. Sorry.’  
‘But it doesn’t. It keeps on pumping blood and breathing. It wants to live.’ She looked up at the twinkling ceiling. ‘It wants to be warm and happy and it will go with you through anything.’ Her face froze, and she blushed, looking away.  
She placed her hands on her hips. ‘Anyway, glad I’m glad I found you in time for breakfast.’  
Wilson, who had been staring at her face, perked up at the thought. ‘Breakfast! Warly’s cooking is astounding.’  
She laughed. ‘It is. If he actually lets you eat it. He’s loosened up since you’re here. I think he sees it as a challenge to get you back on your feet.’  
‘I’ll do my best to not disappoint him then. By eating his food.’  
They laughed.  
A familiar barking sped up to them through the gloom.  
Wilson knelt to catch Chester, letting him lick his face.  
‘It’s okay, hey! Willow found me!’  
But Chester wriggled loose from his grip, then a second bark joined them.  
The two dogs ran circles around them. Stopping to stare at each other, then give chase again.  
Willow nodded after them. ‘Looks like they’re becoming good friends.’  
‘I’m glad,’ Wilson said. ‘Chester is a good boy. It’s nice to see him just have fun for a change.’  
Running footsteps came for them. ‘Boo!’  
Willow folded her arms. ‘I see you don’t have your torch out, Walter. We talked about this.’  
The boy glanced at Wilson, rocking on his heels. ‘But you would have known I was coming.’  
Willow sighed with a smile, bending forward to touch his cheek. ‘Use your miner helmet then, okay? I don’t care how good you think your timing is.’  
He looked down at his shoes. ‘I will.’ Then he dodged her hand and dashed to Wilson’s side. ‘Did I scare you, Wilson?’  
Wilson nodded as they continued their walk. ‘Oh yes, very much.’  
Walter giggled with delight.  
‘I never get scared!’ the boy beamed.  
‘Until you hurt yourself,’ Willow added.  
‘Grievous bodily harm is very bad,’ Walter said. ‘Everyone is afraid of it.’ He shivered. ‘Blood belongs on the inside of me. I never want to see it. Did you ever see your own blood, Wilson?’  
‘I saw all my own organs once.’  
Walter gasped, clasping his face. ‘No!’  
‘Just the intestines.’  
‘Did you die?’  
‘I did.’  
‘That is so bad!’ Walter shook his head, eyes wide. ‘Did it hurt?’  
Willow clapped her hands. ‘Let’s talk about something else!’

By the dinner table, Woodie saw them first. ‘The wanderers have returned!’  
Wickerbottom looked up from her book, sitting in her spot. ‘Did you have a pleasant walk, dears?’  
‘I got lost,’ Wilson said, also taking a seat. ‘Thanks, Willow.’  
Willow shook her head, smiling. ‘Don’t mention it.’  
‘And I scared them,’ Walter said.  
Willow sighed. ‘You certainly did. Wear the helmet.’  
A bell chimed behind them and when everyone got up, Wilson followed them.  
By a row of tiki torches, a long table had been decked out to the fullest.  
Wilson stared at the range of dishes while the others got in line.  
Somehow, he’d forgotten there was this much food.  
The chef stood behind his creations, arms folded. ‘Do I overwhelm you?’  
Wilson nodded. ‘I’ve never even seen half of this. What-’  
Warly spread his arms. ‘This, is my complete cave themed bruncheon.’ He motioned Wilson over to his side of the table.  
The others got on with getting their breakfast, glad for the distraction Wilson provided.  
Warly pinched his finger in the air. ‘Just look at this,’ he gestured to a glossy looking loaf that looked more like an intricate braid. ‘I created this cave banana bread to be sweet, but with a hint of savory to not tire your palette. Next to it are the cousins and aunts, cinnamon rolls, cave banana muffins, scones, carrot cake to die for, some French toast that will make you cry -it’s that good.’  
Wilson had to restrain himself for tracing a finger through the carrot cake glaze. He swallowed.  
Warly brought him over to an arrangement of bowls. ‘This is the Oatmeal section. From mushy, to gooey, to just crisp, nutritious, with berries or nuts to your own liking. I can whip up a baked oatmeal with glowberries, but I’m not ready to receive a marriage proposal from you just yet.’ He shook his head. ‘Oatmeal cookies, anyone? Is there a better start to your day? I think not.’  
Wilson opened his mouth, but the chef guided him to the next section.  
Wilson knew this one. ‘Eggs!’  
‘In all their splendor and variety. No, don’t even touch them, I’ll prepare them fresh.’  
Warly steepled his fingers to his lips, looking Wilson in the eyes. ‘Or, would you prefer pancakes?’  
Heads turned at the mention of pancakes.  
Wilson blinked. ‘I don’t want to bother you, if-’  
Warly realigned his chef’s hat. ‘Pancakes, today is the day.’  
People were stuffing the dishes they’d taken into their mouths and a new line formed behind Wilson.  
A feeling of excitement hung in the air.  
Warly got out his pan and started mixing the batter. ‘The beefalo milk I used to make this, will elevate your standards forever. Are you ready to accept that?’  
Wilson nodded. His standards were pretty low to begin with. 

Wilson dabbed at the corner of his eyes. He was laughing along with the others.  
Somehow the day had gone by and it was story time at the campfire.  
He hugged himself, trying to stop his sides from aching.  
Walter turned out to have the most vivid imagination  
His tales were disjointed, and made leaps of logic here and there. But they made the people laugh. They made him laugh.  
He tried to see the map. To see what the others were doing. But his mind shrunk back from the effort, making him feel ill and weak.  
When he looked back up, things had calmed down.  
These people seemed to have actual lives. A weekly plan for everything. Days that meant something. They planned out even the day.  
They also had furniture. And spaces to themselves. He hesitated to think how They had been living.  
‘Wilson, you available?’  
He jumped.  
Woodie offered his hand, Wilson let himself be helped to his feet.  
‘I finished your hut,’ the other man said.  
‘A hut?’

Wilson followed the woodcutter. Torches and fires lit up wooden structures around the base. He hadn’t figured out what they were for yet.  
They turned out to be a one-room hut, with a bed and a little window.  
Woodie wrung his hands. ‘It’s not much. Gave you a shelf over the bed to put things on…’  
Wilson turned on him. ‘I get this to myself?’  
The woodcutter laughed. ‘You wanted to stay outside in the open?’  
Wilson smiled without his eyes. ‘If you say it like that, it sounds uncomfortable.’  
‘Indeed! Here, I made this for you too.’  
Wilson took the statue handed to him. A wooden figurine of a mermaid. It had his upper body.  
‘Started making this when they brought you in,’ Woodie said. ‘Figured you should have it.’  
Wilson traced a finger over the intricate carvings. Every scale, and twirl of hair, were perfect. ‘This is what you were working on? When you sat by the fire?’  
The man nodded, looking everywhere but at him.  
Wilson shook his head. ‘It’s beautiful.’  
Woodie clapped him on the back. ‘Knew you’d understand it!’  
Before Wilson could steady himself, the other man had left the little cabin.  
Wilson looked around. He rubbed his arm and bit his lip.  
Alone. In a room. With himself. 

Wickerbottom looked up from her seat on the floor. In front of her lay some half-finished books. She seemed busy, so Wilson turned away.  
‘Just in time,’ she said, ‘hold the page for me here, dear.’  
Wilson hunched down, holding the page like she said. Wickerbottom stuck a card into it, pressing it down along the length.  
‘Perfect. You can let go. Fetch me that glue from the top shelf?’  
Wilson ended up sitting against the bookshelf, legs outstretched. Everyone was asleep but for her. She worked tirelessly, engrossed in her craft.  
Wickerbottom mumbled to herself, things about lightning and thunder. About plants and their needs. The murmur of her voice was soothing. He nodded away, startling himself awake.  
‘Could you give this to my plant?’ the old woman asked. ‘I need the light.’  
Wilson took the pellet she gave him.  
A plant dangled in a pot hanging from a beam over her head.  
‘They fade to conserve energy,’ she said. ‘But they remain aglow if you fertilize them enough.’  
‘Are you writing your own books?’ Wilson asked, sitting back down.  
She nodded. ‘A passion of mine. These are powerful.’  
Wilson stifled a yawn, sitting up straight. “Knowledge is power.”  
She looked over her glasses at him. ‘Very true. And I have to apologise to you.’  
He raised his eyebrows. ‘To me, what for?’  
‘You were not ready for a yoga practice this morning.’  
He made a sound. ‘It felt good. Until it didn’t. I don’t know why I reacted like that.’  
She closed one book, weighting it with a rock. ‘It is common, for people like you.’  
‘People like me?’  
Wickerbottom sat up in her yoga posture. ‘Haunted people.’  
‘Oh.’  
She stuck the card into another book, drawing the line across the spine. ‘It is my belief we store trauma in the body, when we can’t deal with it. If you focus on it during activities, you will connect back to it. Like an unpaid balance.’  
Wilson shifted his position, tapping his foot on the carpet.  
‘I shouldn’t feel this bad. I actually feel safe here. There is food. No monsters. Everyone is nice.’  
‘Sounds like the perfect time to work on some issues.’  
‘It’s behind me. It’s over.’ He rubbed his face with his hands. I feel so useless.  
Wickerbottom snapped the book shut, covering it with another rock. When she looked up Wilson was asleep, hunched up and his head on his knees.  
He looked younger, with his troubled face at peace. The grey in his hair didn’t help. And even now, he had a slight frown. This man had gone through a lot.  
They were both startled by Willow, running up and falling onto the carpet.  
‘Wickerbottom! Oh, hi Wilson. One of the outer fires was put out. I think he’s back.’  
The old woman stood. ‘About time. He’s been out there for ages. I am curious to see what he found.’

By the time they made it to the stables, someone had arrived.  
Wilson glimpsed a big man, dressed in fur, dropping from the beefalo saddle.  
But then, what had been following behind the beefalo, entered the light.  
Wilson backed away, his legs gave out, and he had to sit down.  
His heart thundered in his ears. Not pigmen. Different. Though they moved and loomed the same.  
The others hadn’t noticed his reaction.  
‘Wolfgang. So you are in one piece,’ Wickerbottom said. ‘Did you bring something interesting for an old woman?’  
Wolfgang handed her a sack. ‘I’ll carry it,’ he said. ‘It’s heavy.’  
Wickerbottom’s eyes lit up when she looked inside. ‘Marvellous.’  
‘I have more,’ he said. But she wasn’t listening.  
Willow flung her arms around the man’s neck. ‘I’m glad you’re back! We found someone!’  
Wolfgang lifted her in his arms, then put her down. He nodded. ‘I heard about it from my friends here,’ he pointed at the creatures, lingering in the shadows.  
Willow stepped back. ‘Wow.’  
‘Oryctolagus cuniculus sapiens,’ Wickerbottom mumbled.  
‘They want to talk to him,’ Wolfgang went on.  
Wilson, struggling to stand, shook his head. ‘Over my dead body,’ he said.  
He pointed a sharp-looking spear to the snow white creatures. ‘Back off.’  
They didn’t move, their red eyes stared down at him.  
He gritted his teeth, his hands going white around the spear.  
Willow headed towards him, but Wolfgang grabbed her wrist. He walked up to Wilson, smiled, and with ease took the spear from him.  
He pocketed the weapon. Then faced the bunnymen. ‘Folks, I think it’s best you go now. There is nothing for you here.’  
They lingered, then as one hopped off into the dark. 

Wilson deflated. His arms hung down at his side and he couldn’t stop shaking.  
‘Are there any leftovers?’ Wolfgang asked. ‘I am starving.’

Sitting at the table didn’t feel real. Wilson kept tracing his fingers over the smooth wood. What if he’d always be like this? Half-hysterical. Broken up and frail.  
Walter had woken up and was asking questions along with Willow.  
The newcomer answered. He was a big man with a thick dark mustache. Wickerbottom sat alone, studying the content of the bag.  
‘We got off to a poor start,’ the heavy voice of Wolfgang said.  
Wison took the mug the man offered him.  
Wolfgang raised his own. ‘Glad to meet you,’ he said.  
Wilson toasted, his jaw tight. Then drank without tasting.  
After a while he got up, stumbling into the table.  
Willow was at his side. ‘Are you okay?’  
He rubbed his eyes, almost unable to keep them open. ‘Exhausted.’

When Wilson woke up, he was somewhere else. He blinked in the gloom. When he tried to sit up, he couldn’t. Someone had tied his arms behind his back. He kicked his legs, finding them bound as well.  
He let out a groan against the gag in his mouth. This can’t be happening!  
He hunched in on himself. No, no!  
‘Do not panic,’ Wolfgang said from the front of the beefalo saddle.  
‘I put something in your drink, figured it’ be easier this way.’  
Wilson breathed in and out too fast. The beefalo’s pace rocked him around.  
‘Hey,’ Wolfgang reached back. ‘Calm down. God, you’re shaking. Hey. It’s not as bad as you think. I’ll remove the gag. Okay? We’re too far away for anyone to hear you now.’  
Thick fingers fumbled around near the back of his neck. Then the pressure from his mouth released.  
Wilson let out a trembling breath. ‘You bastard.’  
‘It’s my middle name,’ Wolfgang said. ‘I’m sorry, kid, I have a responsibility to my people. They’re soft hearted. I have to be strong for them.’  
Wilson swallowed, it tasted like bile. ‘I understand,’ he said to his own surprise.  
‘You do?’  
Wilson closed his eyes. ‘I was strong once.’ Now I’m weak and I let my people down.  
It was quiet for a while; the beefalo breathing the only sound in the cave.  
‘They just want to talk,’ Wolfgang said. ‘I need to trade you having a conversation with them, for something very important. I’m sorry it’s not voluntary on your part.’  
Wilson couldn’t understand the words being spoken. He lay there wide-eyed, helpless, in the little pig house. Waiting.  
Only this time he knew what was going to happen to him.  
Wolfgang glanced back. ‘Are you listening? I won’t let anything happen.’  
‘It’s already happening,’ Wilson sounded strange.  
Wolfgang pulled on the reins. ‘Wilson.’  
‘It hurts.’ Wilson pressed his face into the saddle, openly crying. ‘God.’  
It sounded too real to ignore. Wolfgang crawled into the back.  
He checked the ropes. They were fine. No bruising. He hadn’t cut off the blood supply to any extremities.  
Wolfgang sighed. ‘Are you trying to trick me here? They said you were smart.’  
Wilson laughed, getting spittle onto his own face. ‘I’m not. I don’t know what’s real anymore! I’m not there. But I am.’  
Wolfgang wiped him clean with the rag. A pained look crossed his face. ‘What happened to you?’  
The bound man looked up at him, and he instantly regretted the question. There was such horror in those dark eyes.  
Wilson shivered. He had to speak, only to escape the visions in his mind.  
‘The pig men,’ he said. ‘They carried me to their village, and they kept me locked up.’  
He shook his head. ‘I keep looking for times to escape, but they’re always around me. And they keep me tied up. The ropes hurt until I can’t feel them anymore.’ He gasped. ‘And it’s a relief when they unbind me, only to stuff me with food or to dance with me or to touch me.’ He fought to get the word out, eyes tearing up. ‘They’re planning something for me. Something horrible. Their king is a monster. He’s always watching me. He’s enormous.’  
His teeth gnashed as he tensed up. ‘I couldn’t anymore... he holds me and I can’t-’  
Wilson sobbed, ‘I slept in his arms. I gave in and -and he had such a satisfied grin on his fat snout. I could feel his chest get big and his heart beating loud.’  
A sad little giggle left his mouth.  
‘It was over then,’ he nodded, his face wet and bare. Some tension drained out of his voice as it broke. ‘They put me on display where he could see them fuck me.’  
His eyes pinched shut, and he writhed against the sensory memory. ‘All of them used me for so long I became a thing. They crowded and shoved and I choked and ached and burned and they enjoyed themselves so much while I thought I was dying.’  
He shook his head, eyes still closed. ‘It doesn’t count. If they take it, it doesn’t count.’ His voice had no strength left, just a hollow string of words.  
‘They gave me to him afterwards. I think he was going to eat me.’  
His lip trembled. ‘But Maxwell saved me. He killed him. He killed them all.’  
A smile slipped onto his face. ‘He cried for me. He thought I was asleep. But what happened to me hurt him so bad he cried. It gave me something back.’  
Wilson looked up at the silhouette above him. It was holding a knife.  
Wolfgang freed his arms, then his legs.  
Wilson sat up. ‘I-’  
Strong arms wrapped around him. He blinked, held in the bearhug.  
Then Wolfgang let go, his voice strained. ‘We’re turning around. I can’t do it.’  
Wolfgang was back in the saddle when Wilson shook his head. ‘It’s okay. I’m going to talk to them.’ He wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘It’s fine.’  
‘I’m sorry that happened to you,’ Wolfgang said, leading their ride to head home. ‘That was horrible, and you didn’t deserve it.’  
‘I want to talk to them,’ Wilson said. ‘I feel like I need to.’  
Wolfgang hung his head. ‘I shouldn’t have taken you. I felt like I had no other choice. But I took the easy way. Old habits die hard. Forgive me.’  
‘If it’s that important, I’ll try,’ Wilson said, sitting back.  
‘It is. It is vital. But I can’t actually promise I can protect you. Not from... everything.’  
Wilson shrugged. ‘I know. But here I am. Still alive somehow.’ And my heart beats and I’m breathing.  
‘Happy to help.’ He held himself. I’m here. I think I’m able to try to be helpful again. He pressed his hands to his eyes, but no flashes or images happened. I’m here. 

‘Where is he?’ Winona shone her new lantern on the surrounding area. This was where Wilson liked to go when he went for a walk.  
Webber yelled. ‘I found his torch!’  
The little group crowded round the boy.  
His voice sounded small. ‘He must have dropped it here.’  
Wendy cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘Wilson!’  
‘He’s not here,’ Winona sighed. ‘We’ve been calling him for hours.’  
Wigfrid pointed to the ground. ‘These tracks go over the edge. It’s Chester.’  
Wurt stood next to her. ‘You can’t go over the edge,’ she said. The merm leaned forward, her hands pressing against thin air. But she wouldn’t fall. ‘It’s impossible.’  
‘I think Wilson could,’ Wigfrid said. ‘He has a map in his mind. Maybe invisible wall isn’t there for him.’  
Wurt shuffled her foot in the dirt. ‘But the cliffs don’t go anywhere. If you fall, you… there’s nowhere to get back up.’  
Webber tossed the torch to the ground. ‘Don’t say that!’  
‘There is a beach,’ Maxwell said.  
They looked at him.  
‘In every version of the world, there is one beach. It connects to the water, because things will fall into the water, even if they’re not supposed to. There has to be a way to get them back. If they’re irreplaceable.’  
‘He is!’ Webber cried.  
Winona clasped her hands. ‘...so, you know how to get there?’  
Maxwell raised his eyebrows. ‘No. I just know it exists.’ He swallowed. ‘If Wilson fell down here, and it looks like he did…’  
He walked to the edge. Then reached out and found his hand held back too. ‘Then he’ll make it to the beach.’  
‘Chester is with him,’ Wendy said. ‘He’s not alone. He’ll make a fire and we can find him there.’ She nudged Webber, who flung himself onto her.  
After a pause, she patted his back. ‘There, there. We’ll find him.’  
Winona pressed the barrier herself, glancing down into the rushing darkness. ‘Maxwell, how do you get to the beach?’  
He flinched. ‘You walk the edge, I suppose. I never went down here myself, I just know.’  
Winona punched her hand with her fist. ‘That’s what we’ll do then. Everyone, time for a hike! Let’s find Wilson! We’ll pack our supplies and start walking.’  
Wigfrid tried to get herself heard over the cheers from the children. Then she hung her head and followed them back to the base.  
‘But we don’t know what will be out there,’ she whispered.


End file.
